


Cold Enough to Slow my Heart

by Sally_Port



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Port/pseuds/Sally_Port
Summary: As the battle against the Long Night pits the Army of the Living against the Army of the Dead, the survivors at Winterfell learn that Winter may have a few benefits they did not consider.Written for entertainment purposes only.  All real rights to this work belong to G.R.R.M.





	1. Chapter 1

They laid Ser Jorah's body in the godswood at dawn, alongside his kinswoman, Lyanna. Queen Daenerys was adamant that her oldest friend be returned to Bear Island. Most of the dead were being stacked and burnt near where they fell, regardless of if they were part of the Army of the Living or the Army of the Dead since all had been equally subject to the Night King's call. Theon was also spared the pyres, his body taken to the crypts of Winterfell where the dead had been returned to their coffins. Arya, Bran and Jon were left to restore order there; Sansa had refused to return to the crypts, even to see Theon placed among the other Starks, though she had followed him to the head of the stairs.

It wasn't until nearly noon that Jon, Sansa and Bran went back to the Godswood to light the pyre for the Ironborne that had so nobly protected Bran. It would be days, Jon realized, before all the bodies around Winterfell would be properly collected and burned but for once, Winter was their ally, staving off rot and disease while the living toiled to stack the dead. The pyres lit with dragonfire were best since they burned hottest and had the least smell to the smoke. Daenerys worked alongside her remaining Unsullied and Dothraki troops, moving bodies into great stacks before kneeling before them a moment and whispering "dracarys" to Drogon or Rhegal.

Jon had thought he and Danaerys had watched the destruction of the Dothraki as their aaraks had extinguished but there were a surprising number of them who had survived the cavalry charge that had broken open the advance of the dead so it hit Winterfell in an uneven wave rather than the crashing tsunami the Night King had clearly intended. The Dragon Queen made it clear that she planned to move what remained of her army south, before Cercei could move north and the Wildlings and the northmen had agreed to go with her. Even Sansa didn't sneer at the Dragon Queen any longer. The trifling differences between North and South had been wiped clean; they were Living. And if Cercei Lannister thought she could let the Living destroy the Dead for her, then take what was left, then the Living had a surprise for her.

Jon paused near Lyanna Mormont's body. Someone had cleaned the blood from her face but her armor showed the dents where her torso had been crushed in the grip of the giant.

"She said once that anyone from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten men. I thought it was typical boasting of a house." Jon felt one corner of his mouth twist up. "It should have taken more than ten men to defeat the giant. Or more than ten men to protect Daenerys from the wights. But the Mormonts did the impossible."

"Here I stand," Sansa quoted. "We will not see their like again."

"Jon." Bran's voice was so soft that Jon barely heard his brother whisper and he turned.

"What is it?"

"Has a maester looked at Sir Jorah?"

"No. Why?" Bran was staring at the body like he was looking through it.

"Because I'm not sure he's dead."

"He has to be. Daenerys said he didn't fall until after the Night King's army collapsed. So there is no way he could have been brought back to the Army of the Dead and even if he had been, he would have returned to the dead when Ayra stabbed him."

His brother's lips turned up into something that wasn't a smile but Jon could tell the younger man was amused. No matter if Sam was right or not, Jon still couldn't think of Bran as anything other than his younger brother. "I don't mean undead. I mean he might not be dead. Yet. He's hurt, yes. But in the cold his blood has slowed; his organs that should have failed him are barely functioning because he has gone into hibernation. A little like. . . ."

Bran trailed off and Sansa's lips parted before she said, "like a bear."

"He may yet die." Bran sounded sad and Sansa placed her finger's against Sir Jorah's neck.

"I don't feel a pulse."

"He barely has enough blood. You wouldn't feel it. And in this cold the slight breath isn't enough to be felt either."

Jon's head swiveled towards the west; where Daenerys had been an hour ago, lighting another pile of bodies and Sansa inhaled sharply. "Jon, you can't tell her if we don't know if he'll live. That would be cruel."

He'd always though Ser Jorah had been nothing to her but an old friend and he'd asked enough people to know Ser Jorah had loved Daenerys but that she had never loved him back. He remembered cradling Ygritte in his arms as she died, realizing what he'd lost too late to do anything about it and he wondered if Daenerys had realized, holding Ser Jorah, that she was losing the one she had truly loved, even if she hadn't known it until it was too late.

The night she had come to him on the ship, he had thought he was in love with her. But now, knowing she was really his Aunt, he was no longer sure what he felt. When Sam had first told him he was Aegon Targaryen, he had thought that if he married Daenerys, it would solve all the debates if he should be King or she should be Queen. But he looked around the Godswood and realized he no longer wanted to leave the North. Bran knew the truth, as did Sam and Daenerys herself and he was pretty sure he could talk them into saying nothing if he asked.

"Sansa, go get me Sam and find me a body about Ser Jorah's height.

His sister arched her eyebrows at him and jerked her chin up and he turned. There was a cluster of bodies near the entrance to the Godswood. No one knew if they had been coming to protect Bran of it they had fallen earlier and were marching at the Night King's command. One of them had black armor and Jon carried him to the place where Ser Jorah had laid. He still couldn't feel any sign of life as he lifted the Knight but Bran winced.

"Be careful with him. He barely lives."

Sansa looked around of the scene and her lips twisted as she grabbed armloads of the same brush they had used to start the pyre for the Ironborne and placed it around Lyanna and the anonymous northerner. Her eyes closed and she breathed a quick prayer before lighting the scrub.

"I should let them take her home. But I think she would be proud to be here. And she would appreciate why I am doing this. I'll send Sam to you."

Jon took Ser Jorah to Bran's room on the main floor of Winterfell because it was closest to the Godswood. It had once been a small sitting room but since Bran no longer had Hodor to carry him up the stairs, Sansa had emptied it for Bran's use. He moved towards the fire once Ser Jorah was on the bed but Bran shook his head. "He needs to stay cold. At least for now. He still lives but he'll need blood. But if it's the wrong blood, he'll die."

"Can you tell who's blood won't kill him?" Bran was silent for a very long time before he smiled just slightly.

"Jaime Lannister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been prepared for Ser Jorah to not survive for some time now. I originally came up with the idea for this story a while ago and after watching S8x3, I thought I'd just write an AU where Ser Jorah survived the Battle of Winterfell. But since I needed to put some of the characters in a bad emotional place. . .why waste the opportunity handed to us by the latest episode. There is some medical truth to cold slowing down death from trauma (and drowning). I am aware that I am stretching the possibilities of real medical science. But hey, look, dragons (translation: yes, I know, this is improbable. Work with me).
> 
> Disclaimer: Yes, I have read the books. But I think the last time I cracked one open was probably 2014 so while I can intelligently discuss the differences between Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire. . .I'm using show cannon for most of this because I'm a little rusty on book cannon (though I may delve later into a little bit of the REAL reason Tyrion killed Tywin since I always thought the show skipped that part).
> 
> Also, I thought the opening charge of the Dothraki against the Army of the Dead was foolish in the extreme, even if I attempt to justify it here.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the last service she could do for them, Daenerys realized, as she helped move yet another Dothraki body. They had followed her, across the great grass sea, across the poison water. And she had asked more of them than anyone. The tears threatened again and for a moment she hoped they would fall but the urge to weep passed as quickly has it had come, leaving her feeling dull and lifeless as she had since they had taken Ser Jorah's body from her arms and laid him in the Godswood.

"Your Grace." She turned at the sound of Lady Sansa's voice but the mocking tone was gone. The other woman looked as tired as Daenerys felt but her back was straight. Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken. Dany wishes she felt like anything other than the opposite of all three.

"What can I do for you, Lady Sansa?" She almost wished she could have sounded snide herself but she didn't have the energy for it and she thought of how Ser Jorah had encouraged her to make her peace with Lady Sansa and he would have thought it funny that his death was what had done it.

"I bring ill news." Sansa's eyes were wide and Daenerys wondered for a moment if she had news of Cercei Lannister but the Wardeness of the North leaned over to take Daenery's hand. "As you know, the Ironbourne protected my brother in the Godswood and for that reason, we laid their funeral pyre there. Except someone made a mistake and built a second pyre before we realized it. For Ser Jorah and Lady Lyanna Mormont.

Dany thought her heart had frozen already but she barely suppressed the screams that threatened to spill out of her mouth. She gradually became aware that she was on her knees, her mouth open as she panted and she pushed herself to her feet. Her run was stumbling at best but she managed to outpace Lady Sansa. Her sides ached by the time she came to the gate at the Godswood. The pyre for the Ironbourne was large. The bodies stacked together in rows.

The second pyre was smaller; two people laying next to each other and it was fully engulfed but she stepped fowards anyway. Don't ask me to watch you burn. The sound of Jorah's voice in her head took her back to her knees as the flames licked at her cloak and she felt someone grab her arm as if to draw her back. She shrugged off the hand, crawling forward. She could feel the heat against her skin but it wasn't unpleasant and she could hear screaming from outside the pyre. It had been Lady Sansa trying to pull her back, she realized.

She made her way next to the bodies but she hesitated as she started to reach for Lyanna Mormont. The girl should have gone home along with Ser Jorah. She could have beat back the flames and carried them out but to what purpose. Jorah had spoken of home often enough she had wanted to take him there but to pull him away from his pyre now would have been to have lifted bone from muscle; legs separating from torso and arms pulling out of their sockets. She rested her head for a moment against the pyre and turned away. In the end, she had become his home and he wouldn't care where his body had burned as long as he had died protecting her.

Her cloak was gone and her jacket had huge holes in it when she walked out of the pyre and she fell to the ground, rolling in the snow to put it out so she didn't end up completely naked like she had the other two times she had walked from the flames. As she stood up she could see Sansa Stark shaking, eyes so wide and mouth hanging open in shock. The Wardeness of the North trembled in completely stunned surprise and Dany almost smiled. Ser Jorah had seen her come out of the flames twice and she felt the tears finally leak, allbeit more slowly than she had expected. He had told her he would remember until his last breath and despite the heat she trembled.

"Save the ashes," she said and Sansa's mouth opened and shut but no sounds came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer I write, the more I am not sure that the characters would be able to keep the secret from Daenerys. But I think they are worried about what it would do to her to find Jorah lived. . .only to have her lose him again. With author omnipotence, I know he will survive. But they don't know that.


	3. Chapter 3

Every muscle in his body ached but Jaime stretched his arms and shoulders after tossing the latest corpse onto the cart. He'd slept for a few hours after battle with Brienne and Pod and he curled together on a blanket near the fire in the great hall. But when Brienne had gotten up to start helping clear Winterfell, he and Pod had followed her, even though she had encouraged them to sleep. It was a monumental task and he wondered how many days it would take but he was grateful. He knew Daenerys Targaryan wouldn't wait long before pressing her attack on Kings Landing and despite breaking with Cersei, he wasn't sure he wanted to face her in battle. The cold cut at his fingers, despite the gloves, and he trembled. He could volunteer to stay in Winterfell but he knew Brienne would go south with Sansa and his place was with her.

He caught sight of Jon Snow walking across the courtyard, between two of the carts they had filled. They had debated building smaller pyres inside the courtyard but the smell of death from the first they had burned there had been enough to convince them the extra trouble of loading the carts and taking them outside the walls was made up for the by the efficiency of the dragon-fire they didn't dare use in the courtyard itself.

Ned Stark's bastard was coming towards them and Jamie sighed, hoping the man wanted to speak to Brienne rather than him. Eventually someone was going to think to ask him about Cersei's weaknesses and he dreaded trying to not betray his new allies on one hand or his sister on the other. The though surprised a smirk from him when he glanced at his left hand first, then over to the golden prosthetic he wore over the stump of his right wrist. Balancing things on hands, he decided, was just something he didn't have to worry about anymore.

"Ser Jaime." Jon's tone was as serious as his gaze and Jaime sighed.

"What can I do for you?" He wished he could have come up with a lighthearted quip but he was too tired. Tyrion was the true wit of their family but Jaime fancied he could give almost as much as his little brother when he applied himself.

"Can you come with me." It wasn't a question and from the grimness of Jon's glare, Jaime could Jon realized he was asking something important. He hated the swell of water at his eyes and the tightness in his jaw. So it had come at last. He glanced over at Brienne and Pod and crushed his wish to brush off Jon Snow. The work he was doing was important, he didn't doubt that. But as much as he didn't want to have anything to do with Cersei's downfall, she wouldn't hesitate to kill them as she would to swat a housefly.

"Very well." Brienne started to turn and her mouth opened but Jaime shook his head slightly and she nodded at him. It meant a great deal to him she would try to offer her support. She knew about he and Cersei but he still didn't want her sitting there when he talked about his sister's greatest weaknesses. Brienne may not have judged him for loving Cersei but her presense made him judge himself even harsher.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Ser Brienne," he said, feeling his lips come up just a bit in mirror to hers. Of all the things he had ever done, knighting Brienne may have been the best of them. He saw the surprise in Jon's face and threw back his shoulders as they walked towards the main hall.

"Ser Brienne?" There was no judgement in Jon's face but there was surprise in his voice.

"Any Knight may make another. And no one has ever earned it more."

"I agree," Jon said. "She has served my family well." The snow in the courtyard of Winterfell was churned with mud, ash and blood and Jaime turned his head towards the weak sun.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to allow this conversation to wait? With the Night King dead, Summer may replace Winter at any time and you don't want that pile of bodies if we get a thaw. Besides, Tyrion can tell you every weakness to Kings Landing and my sister better than I could."

Jon shrugged, as if conceding the truth in the statements. "I have no doubt he could. And will." Winterfell still had many bodies inside it when Jaime had gotten up a few hours ago but the great hall was at least clear of them but Jon turned them down a smaller corridor and into a room where Bran Stark was sitting in his wheeled chair beside a bed.

So it had come to this, Jaime thought, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He had always known he would one day answer for shoving the boy out the window but Bran's eerie smile went from the door to the bed and Jaime felt himself frown when he saw the body of Ser Jorah Mormont, stripped of armor and shirt but with cloths wrapping around his torso. One of them, he saw, was starting to seep red.

"Is he alive?"

"Barely," Bran answered and the door behind the opened again to as Sansa led in a dark haired man with a round face and a beard. They hadn't officially met, Jaime realized, but he was pretty sure it was Randall Tarly's exiled son, Samwell.

Sansa carried a basket she set against the bed and smiled faintly at him before she stepped out again and Jaime turned back to Ser Jorah.

"He's dying," Bran said. His gaze going back and forth between Jaime and Ser Jorah. "There may be others that could save him but it would take parading them all by his bed so I could tell if their blood matches his and there is no time for that. He may yet die even now. But if there is a chance, you are the only one he has."

Sam moved to the basket and pulled out a quill, studying it. The plume had been trimmed from the end and the younger man shook his head. "As I told your sister, I've read about this. But I've never done it before. I don't even know if it will work."

"So I assume," Jaime asked, "you move blood from my body to his?"

Sam nodded, Bran shrugged and Jaime sighed as he dragged at his coat with his good hand. It wasn't that he had known or liked Ser Jorah but the chance to save anyone's life was something Brienne would approve of and she wouldn't have asked questions so he decided not to either.

The entire process was incredibly painful, he would discover over the next few hours. They nicked the vein his his right elbow with a knife but the act of shoving the quill in was agonizing and while the blood flowed encouragingly into the vein in Ser Jorah's arm for a few minutes, Jaime's blood started to clot all too quickly and so they moved to his left elbow, then his left wrist, then his right forearm. He had to stay hovered over Ser Jorah to keep the blood moving and Sam didn't seem satisfied with the amount but he felt himself growing lightheaded fast and had to lean against Jon for support as his senses swam and his knees grew weak. Eventually Sam gave a terse nod and Jon laid him on the bed near Ser Jorah and from that distance Jaime could see there was a faint flush of pink against the formerly corpse-pale skin and he trembled with cold and shock. He could hear another voice and realized Sansa Stark was spooning broth into his mouth and he couldn't stop shaking, even when he heard Jon and Sansa arguing over something. He wanted to know what it was but though he could hear the sounds, they didn't form coherent words. Eventually he became aware that Jon had left but then Jaime felt himself being lifted and the quill being shoved back into his arm and he marveled that Sansa had the strength to hold him upright but he could see the red of her hair before he realized it wasn't her hair but rather that of Tormund Giantsbane who held him.

The man annoyed him because he pestered Brienne but Jaime realized that it wasn't so much that Tormund who annoyed him as much as he was jealous that the Wildling said all the things he thought in secret but never put into words. And because Tormund would never ask her to be anything but the warrior she was while Jaime only had his stained honor and the horror that was Casterly Rock to offer. Brienne might have been one of the noblest Knights the Seven Kingdom's had to offer, but to confine her to being Lady of Casterly Rock would be a fate worse than death for her.

He felt himself slipping but Tormund tightened his grip and made some kind of jest that Jaime barely heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked Jamie as being the only one (initially) who matches blood with Ser Jorah (ex machina. . .Bran doesn't understand about blood types but he knows some people will be fatal to share blood, even if he doesn't know why) because that lets me keep a main character around. Besides, anything Jaime can do to help him feel like he's redeemed himself a little is for the best.
> 
> Yes, I know, dubious medical science. But hey. . .I'm writing this so it works. Though the thought of having a quill shoved in my vein. . .not to mention the potential risk of infection. Thank goodness for modern medicine.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa Stark found Brienne in the courtyard and nodded to her. "Ser Brienne," she said as the tall Knight turned from her wagon of corpses. "My brother tells me that Ser Jaime made you a Knight and I am glad of it. I can think of no one who deserves the title more."

"Thank you, Milady," Brienne's head ducked, even though she still towered over Sansa and she straightened for a moment, stretching her shoulders.

Sansa held out a basket with bread and a skin of water and Brienne pulled off her gloves, wiping her filthy hands on the towel Sansa handed her. She gestured for her squire to join her and the two of them grabbed the bread as soon as they had wiped their hands, even though there were still streak of grime that no amount of toweling would remove.

Sansa looked around with approval at the courtyard that was still in disarray but most of the bodies were gone. It would take the work of only another hour at most to clear and with others doing the same to other parts of Winterfell, the interior of the keep would be corpse-free by nightfall. "You have done good work here."

"We all have," Brienne said. "Ser Jaime was here until your brother needed him. I. . . ." she trailed off, took a deep breath and drove on. "Milady, I know the Lannister's are no friend to your family. But Ser Jaime. . .Pod and I would have died without him last night. I don't know what he intends but I don't believe he wishes to go back to Kings Landing. I don't know how you feel about him staying on at Winterfell and maybe that's a terrible idea but I don't think going South would be good for him."

"He won't be going South," Sansa said, smiling slightly. Regardless of if Ser Jorah lived or died, the amount of blood they had taken from Ser Jaime would prevent him leaving Winterfell probably for longer than Daenerys would remain. She wanted as few people to know as possible but had eventually given in to Jon's argument that they needed more help. Tormund had been able to support the taller Knight better than Jon had but Bran had confirmed he didn't have the right blood. But Tormund was loyal to Jon, even if he had agreed to march South to defeat Cercei's mercenaries. Now that the area north of the wall no longer harbored the Army of the Dead, the Wildlings would no doubt be returning to it once the final battle was over.

Tyrion, Sansa realized, was going to be their biggest problem. There was no way he was going to leave Winterfell without seeing his older brother again and there was no way to explain Jaime's condition without revealing Ser Jorah was alive and Sansa knew Tyrion's loyalty to Daenerys might mean he felt he had to tell her the Knight was still alive. Sansa felt her own eyes prick with tears. She didn't particularly like the Dragon Queen but her grief had been genuine enough. Sansa thought back to her own father's death and what it would have been like if she hadn't known for certain that Eddard Stark was truly dead; if she had been left in false hope that he might still be alive.

She had heard the stories about Daenerys; about the dragons being born in fire but she hadn't really believed the part about Daenerys being able to walk into fire until she had seen it for herself. The whole thing had both filled her with awe and terror because it made her realize Daenerys Targaryan was more than just the sum of her dragons. Her mind flashed back to visiting with Margery and her cousins in Kings Landing and one of the Tyrell girls had spotted a spider and had screamed as if the hounds of hell had been after her. Margery had laughed at her younger cousin, mocking her for her fear of something not even the size of her thumb, joking about burning down the whole garden pavilion. At the time, Sansa had laughed at Margery's teasing, "kill it with fire." She hadn't found it so funny when she'd heard Margery had been killed in the destruction of the Sept of Bailor but she wondered for a moment effect Wildfire would have on Daenerys because lesser flame clearly meant nothing more important to her than the potential loss of her clothes. Daenerys Targaryan had survived the first loss of her oldest friend. She wasn't sure what she would do about the second.

"Tell me, Ser Brienne. Was Ser Jaime wounded in the battle?"

"Not that I know of," Brienne answered immediately and Sansa sighed. The woman was loyal to a fault but sometimes that very honesty could be a problem. Her squire clearly understood Sansa's question much better but then, Sansa remembered him from his time with Tyrion and the boy had also grown up in Kings Landing.

"I think he was, Milady. Not bad, at the time. But he ignored it, of course."

Brienne looked stunned for a moment but then her eyes narrowed as she glanced between them.

"What are you talking about, Pod?" Her gaze flicked back to Sansa. "Milady?"

"It might have taken septic from all the filth he's been handling," Podrick added blandly but Sansa shook her head and he bit his lip. "He wrapped it well but the wound was leaking and he lost a lot of blood but slow so he didn't notice it?" This time Sansa nodded and Brienne looked outraged.

"If he's wounded himself to stay North," she gasped, the fury visible in her face but Sansa help up a hand.

"No. But he has allowed us to wound him for another reason. Forgive me for hiding it for now. It is his brother I mean to deceive , not you, but the less you know the better." She wouldn't even mention Daenerys was the real person they meant to deceive, because both Pod and Brienne had both helped lay out Ser Jorah and Lady Lyanna in the Godswood.

"Can I see him?" Brienne asked stiffly but Sansa shook her head.

"No." Something in Brienne's eyes made Sansa's heart ache and she relented. "Not yet. Maybe tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because when you're so crusted in filth, a quick hand-wipe seems as good as a bath before eating. I figured Poderick would pick up on Sansa's meaning faster than Brienne since he's been in Kings Landing for a while and since he also used to work for Tyrion.
> 
> And it's not even the first time Daenerys has said goodbye to Ser Jorah. But Sansa wouldn't know about Daenerys exiling him, or when he left her to find a cure for grayscale or when he went to help Jon capture the wight.


	5. Chapter 5

Death still hung in the room, despite cuts that crossed Ser Jaime's arms and legs but Jon could finally tell Ser Jorah was alive, if barely. Bran sat motionless by the fireplace as Tormund held one of Jaime's legs in the air so the blood could drain down the quill. Jon grabbed the handles of Bran's chair and wheeled him towards the door. "We'll be back," he said as Sam glanced their way. "We're going out to find someone else who has matching blood."

The halls of Winterfell were nearly deserted but the kitchen was a hive of activity. Women and children both worked at getting something like a meal together and Bran's eyes flicked to a child then away again. "Her blood would work," he said softly but Jon shook his head.

"I doubt she has enough of it to make a difference." He recognized her as the girl that Sansa had persuaded to go the crypts when she wanted to be out fighting with her brothers. "But she has kin."

"Not anymore." Bran sounded matter-of-fact and Jon nodded. There would be many orphans of Winterfell to be sheltered in the house and he felt mixed grief for the child and pride that his house would not forsake their duty to their dead.

Most of the courtyard had been cleared so the workers had moved out beyond the walls to where the dead were piled too close to the walls to just light them. Wildlings, Dothraki, Northerners and Unsullied formed lines, moving bodies into great pyres. Three of them were burning around the perimeter of Winterfell and as soon as they had an area cleared they moved to another. Bran's chair was hard to push over the mass of corpses and Jon was about to suggest lifting his brother onto his back when Bran turned towards a Dothraki. He wasn't an old man but he was past youth. His shoulders were straight and his braids were only to his shoulders, indicating he had lost a fight sometime in his life. But he looked strong and moved with restless energy.

What he didn't have, Jon realized, was a single bit of understanding of the common tongue but he clearly recognized Jon and followed him back towards Winterfell. His forehead creased at the sight of Bran's chair and he made a few comments that Jon didn't understand.

He followed them into the room and stopped, his head tilting at the figure on the bed and he turned to Jon. "Jorah the Andal?"

"Not dead." Jon said, wishing he didn't sound like such as idiot. He had spoken louder than normal, as if that would make the man understand him and the man said something long and complicated but only the words "Khaleesi" and "Khal Drogo" made sense to Jon. The Dothraki clearly didn't approve of what they were doing and Jon recalled Daenerys telling him the Dothraki only respected strength and even that only til it was gone. He should have kept looking, he realized and he wondered how he could keep the Dothraki from going straight to Daenerys when the man's eyes turned white and Jon turned his head to see Bran's were the same way.

It was a poor reward for the Dothraki's service and Sam jerked away but Tormund didn't appear startled. He'd seen warging plenty, Jon remembered. He hoped Daenerys hadn't had a chance to count her remaining men because he'd have a hard time explaining why yet another one of the had disappeared.

"Is this right?" Sam questioned and Tormund laughed.

"Probably not. But we've come too far to stop now. After all this one," he shook a nearly unconscious Jaime but the gesture almost looked affectionate, "has done it would be a shame to watch him die now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because eventually they were going to need more blood. Looking at a few things, I'm not sure Bran would be able to warg with a fully-conscious human. But hey, he can sense if someone will cause Jorah to die. So why not.
> 
> I may be taking the Bran-ex-machina a little far. Hey, look, dragons!


	6. Chapter 6

"I think you're letting too many people know," Sansa told her brother, staring at the Dothraki bound next to Ser Jorah. He'd struggled briefly when he was woken up but Bran had needed to rest and eat and the Dothraki had as well. He'd kept repeating a phrase over and over but he lay sullen, not even resisting as Tormund had changed his position to allow the blood to flow more freely to Sir Jorah. It had been full dark for two full hours and most everyone had gone back outside after the evening meal to stack more corpses. The air felt softer to Sansa and she prayed the ice and frosts would hold long enough to slow any advance Cersei might be making as well as the rot that would set in if the dead thawed before they were burnt. 

"We didn't have a choice. He needed more blood than Ser Jaime had to give." Jon sounded as tired as Sansa felt. "Can you keep watch in here. I need to go outside for a while so no one notices I'm missing."

"Of course. Wait here while I fetch more broth and then you can go when I get back." There was no real reason for needing one of them in the room, especially with Bran there, but Sansa knew Jon was worried none-the-less.

It wasn't a long walk to the kitchens from the great hall and no one questioned when he filled an urn with stew and placed five pieces of bread on a tray. She saw the Queen's translator who had spoken so sharply in defense of her liege in the crypts and she crossed to where the woman was sitting with one of the Unsullied. Missandei's eyes widened as she started to rise but Sansa waved her back down. "Forgive me for interrupting your meal but I wondered if you might tell me what 'Qoy athmovezar athdrivar' means?"

The woman frowned slightly. "'Blood magic brings death.' Or it could be 'blood magic is death.' I can't be sure. Who said it to you?"

"One of the Dothraki. I thought he was asking a question and felt bad not being able to answer him. But it sounds like he was just making a statement. How would I say 'Thank the Gods we are alive' if I see him again?"

She could see the speculation in Missandei's eyes but the translator sighed. "The Dothraki don't really have the same concept of the Gods as Northerners do. 'We are alive' is 'kisha thir.'"

"And how would I say 'thank you?'"

"The Dothraki have no words for 'thank you' in their language. But if you wish to thank one, nod firmly at whatever you wish to thank them for and say 'davra.' It means 'good' and they will understand you are pleased with what they have done."

"The Dothraki may have no word for it. But I do thank you for your assistance. I will see you tomorrow." She nodded to the Unsullied whose name she thought was Grey Worm and balanced her tray as she walked from the kitchen. There were many other things she wished she could have asked but she wasn't sure how many more things she could have said without making the Queen's adviser suspicious. 

Once back in Bran's room she portioned out the stew and the Dothraki didn't try to lower his arm, even when Tormund accepted the bowl she handed him and she smiled at the man who glared back at her. "Kisha thir." She pointed around the room at everyone and finally at the bed and Ser Jorah. "Kisha thir."

She didn't understand the torrent of words he shot at her and didn't try to remember them either because she doubted she could pass them off as casual conversation if she asked anyone else what they meant. She jerked her head at Ser Jorah, nodded firmly as instructed and said "Davra" as emphatically as she could. The Dothraki made a sound in his throat but then lay back, shaking his head. For a moment she thought he was disagreeing with her but then she realized he was laughing a little. Sam disconnected the quill from the Dothraki's arm and Tormund helped prop the man up so he could eat his own stew without help.

"I wish we could explain to him what we are doing," she said, as Tormund helped Sam move Jaime back into position to have blood taken from his left arm again. She watched the Knight stiffen and wince but he said nothing as Sam moved the quill until the blood flowed freely again. She realized the Knight was still pale but she could finally see the breath rising and falling in his chest, albeit faintly.

"I think this last bit will do it for now," Sam muttered. "I've stitched up all the wounds I can find and they seem to be holding. It's just a matter if he turns septic or not and I've done everything I can prevent that. Though more tincture of silver would help if we were able to get any. I used all you gave me."

"That was the last of it," Sansa admitted. "But we have plants around that can help heal and I can lead a party tomorrow to get those. We have enough wounded men here no one will think it is strange."

"I'd like to go with you, if I could?" Sam said and Sansa nodded. "Of course. If you can be spared here."

"He'll probably need more blood tomorrow. But for a while they can both have a rest."

"My brother," Jaime rasped, "will want to see me. I'd probably better go to my own chambers for a while. You can move me back here after. . .in case he needs more blood in the night."

It was a poor return for all their services, Sansa realized. They'd fought all night, been up most of the day stacking bodies, then asked to give their blood -- or strength in Tormund's case -- to a man who may yet die.

The Dothraki lay back on the bed, glaring at his bonds then saying something to Sansa that she didn't understand but she glanced at Tormund. "Free him." Tormund looked about to protest but then cut through the Dothraki's bonds and the man massaged his wrists, snapped something bitter at them but, other than rolling his shoulders to a new position, didn't try to leave the room. It hadn't been a real risk, Sansa knew, as long as Bran could warg with him if needed. The Dothraki was clearly annoyed but he seemed to have accepted the situation and yawned as Jon adjusted his blanket.

"I think we can go ahead and have that fire now," Bran said and Sansa smiled at the Dothraki. 

She patted herself, just below the hollow of her throat. "Sansa. Sansa." She pointed at him and the man sneered for a moment, then shrugged.

"Qhozo."

"Qhozo." Sansa repeated his name, then looked back at Ser Jorah. "Qhozi, davra."

In his snort he clearly disagreed with her but the look he directed at Jorah was surprisingly tender. Sansa couldn't understand what he said but he ended it with repeating , "Qoy Qoyi," three times, emphatically and he patted Ser Jorah's leg. The Knight drew his breath sharply, which startled all of them and the Dothraki's eyebrows raised. It was the most sign of life they had seen from the Knight and Sam spooned a mouthful of something between Jorah's lips while they were still parted.

"I'll help Ser Jaime to his room," Jon said. "I'll be back in a few hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank goodness for Dothraki translators on the internet. Though it is interesting because it doesn't cover a lot of words.
> 
> I figured the Dothraki would resist at first because he thought it was blood magic. Even after he figured out it wasn't, he would still not understand why a strong warrior was given a good death. Eventually, however, he just decides to go along because he is a little interested and Qoy Qoyi translates to "Blood of My Blood."
> 
> Given the Dothraki respect for strength, I'm not sure he would agree with what is going on. . .but it saves long exposition about them holding a Dothraki prisoner. That would be a bit of a logistical nightmare and I don't think I want to put that much thought into writing this.
> 
> I have the start of the next chapter written where Tyrion sees Jaime for the first time since he became a blood-bank, though it is implied they met up sometimes in the morning, after the battle as over but before Jon went for Jaime.


	7. Chapter 7

"What do I hear about you not admitting you were wounded?" Tyrion said as he came into Jaime's room less than an hour after Jon had settled him in the room he had slept in the first night he'd been in Winterfell. Jaime realized that had only been two days before. He paused and his eyebrows raised in shock, "Damn, you do look terrible."

"Turns out bleeding to death slowly is as bad for you as bleeding to death quickly, if you don't do anything about it." Jaime tried to sound lighthearted but he was too tired and he felt guilty at the way Tyrion was looking at him with new speculation.

"Are you sure you didn't just plan to die last night and when that didn't happen you figured you'd take another way out?" Trust his brother to be so blunt.

"No. I didn't realize it was so bad. When one is alive at all, one hates to complain. And training after Ser Brienne is quite the experience even at the best of times. She seems to not need the same amount of sleep the rest of us do. Fortunately she is also observant. Unfortunately, I had so much blood on my clothes, no one realized plenty of it was my own. And I was so covered in filth that it wasn't until I passed out that they realized I'd gone gray."

"You didn't notice the fact you were getting weaker?" He heard the disbelief in his brother's voice and shrugged.

"I had been fighting all night. I thought I was just feeling older."

Tyrion snorted, pulling a cork out of a skin of wine and swallowing directly from the neck. "Jaime Lannister. . .mistakes bleeding to death for getting older." He offered the skin to his brother but Jaime shook his head. As much blood as he had lost, it would take very little wine to get him drunk enough he would saying anything Tyrion suggested.

"Well Ser Brienne could have said she had people dying to impress her."

Jaime but back a retort when he realized Tyrion was needling him. "It would almost be worth the price -- provided I could be a ghost and see the look on Cersei's face when someone told her what killed me."

That surprised a laugh out of his little brother and Tyion lifted the wineskin in a salute before taking another sip. "That may well cause her death in return from horror and shock."

Jaime leaned back against the pillows, his eyelids heavy but he chuckled. "It might. My contribution to the war effort. My very own magical assassin powers." Tyrion was looking at him intently and Jaime raised his left hand to brush against his cheeks and realized he had tears in his eyes. "Damn," he whispered. "Even knowing what she is. . .some days I miss her."

From the look on Tyrion's face he thought he was in for a lecture but then his brother sighed. "I know. Oh, I don't miss Cersei. But I knew Shay was a whore. I knew her allegiances were bought and sold with coin but I. . .even after she betrayed me to father and Cersei, I miss her too sometimes."

He hadn't ever really asked Tyrion about that night and didn't want to now but heard himself speak. "That wasn't. . .you didn't. . .she. . .she wasn't the reason you killed Father, was it?"

His brother's head bowed and he could see regret in Tyrion's face. "No. I would be lying if I said she wasn't a small part of it. But I was his son and he did everything he could to ensure that counsel found me guilty. He knew I wasn't but he didn't care. And. . .Tysha."

Jaime sighed. He had lived with the guilt for years about telling Tyrion that the farm girl he had married had been a whore that Jaime had hired to help Tyrion lose his virginity. He had listened to Tywin's arguments that the girl wasn't good enough for the Lannister's but he hadn't expected Tyion would agree to let Tywin pass the girl around his men before exiling her from Casterly Rock.

"I was always sorry I was a part of that." He remembered Tywin's pleas and reasoning that he was the on;y one Tyrion would trust and that part of it had been true. Tyrion had never doubted what Jaime had told him.

One corner of Tyrion's mouth twitched in agreement and he shrugged before tipping the wineskin to his lips. "I did look for her. I tried to go where whores go." He took another drink. "But to be honest, I didn't even have a starting point. So while I was drunk and angry, grieving because I had just killed my father and who I thought was the love of my life, betrayed by my family and abandoned by my latest wife, I fell into the hands of a great tall man who said little and glowered more. And thus was delivered to Daenerys Targarien so that I might be of some use to the world again."

Yet another debt he owed Ser Jorah, Jaime realized. What may have happened to Tyrion if he had been on his own, But he took satisfaction in knowing he had done what he could to repay that debt, even if he hadn't considered it at the time. His eyes were drifting shut to no matter how hard he tried to keep them open and she heard Tyrion's soft laugh as his little brother gripped his hand.

"Should I stay with you?" Tyrion asked and Jaime was just considering how to say no without making his brother suspicious when someone knocked on the door and opened it at Tyrion's "Come."

It was Brienne and Pod and Jaime was glad Tyrion was looking at him, not Brienne, when her eyes widened in shock and horror. He'd known he looked bad but clearly, it was worse than he had thought. Her mask was back in place soon enough but not before Jaime saw the concern in her face and it warmed him that she could worry about him without considering political consequences and lines of succession or anything other than a friend had been hurt and his smile at her was a little more open than he meant it to be. He quickly tried to bring his face back to blankness but Tyrion had seen it and his gaze between Brienne and Jaime was clearly speculating. He didn't care, he decided, what his brother thought. His feelings for Brienne confused him to the point there was was no tidy category to classify her.

"Ser Brienne. Poderick." Tyrion stood and gestured at the chair he'd just vacated. "Have you come to bid my brother a good night?"

Brienne looked strangely reluctant but Poderick's jaw set. "No, Milord. We gave up our chambers to wounded so we thought we would remain with Ser Jaime tonight. In case he has need of anything." Brienne blushed but didn't disagree and after a moment she met his eyes and Jaime felt himself smile when she did.

Tyrion was making some kind of excuse for his departure but he squeezed Jaime's hand briefly before he went. Brienne was still blushing slightly as she laid her blanket in front of the fire and Jaime smiled gently at her.

"Ser Brienne." He kept his voice mild as she turned to him. "It's a large bed. We all slept closer together this morning in the hall than we would in this bed." he shifted himself a little more towards the center of it. He could see the longing on Pod's face but the squire only glanced at his liege without moving while Jaime watched emotions war on her face. "And," he added, "I would be glad of the extra warmth."

It was the tipping point he hoped it would be and Brienne set Oathkeeper against the chair Tyrion had vacated and kicked off her slippers. Pod was grinning and climbing into the far side of the bed, The bed was large enough none of them needed to touch but Pod burrowed his way under the blankets and turned on his side so that his back was against Jaime's right shoulder. He hadn't realized how cold he had been until Pod settled against him.

Brienne was slower to move, lifting the layer of blankets back but leaving the sheet between them but she too lay down before him and moved until her shoulder was against his. After a moment he moved his left hand to grip her hand and he felt her return the pressure. She turned her head on the pillow next to his and regarded him for a moment.

"What did they do to you?"

"They let me give my blood to help someone else."

"Did it hurt?"

He lifted his right arm and pulled back the sleeve so she could see the cuts and the bruising and he saw her eyes widen. One of her fingers went to trace one of the cuts but she stopped just before she made contact with his skin.

"Why if you are doing something so noble and at great cost to yourself, do they keep it a secret."

"His family thinks he died. We don't know if what I did is enough to heal him or not. The want to spare his family the pain of losing him again. And what of all the other piles of bodies out there. What if each other their loved ones insisted on examining them, of giving blood to them in the chance that they too were not dead. The weeping for those already burnt in case they too could have been saved." 

Even at that angle he could see the understanding in her face and she nodded. "So that's why Sansa asked us to say you had been wounded without noticing."

It does help prevent a panic. His family thinks he is burned and gone. If he dies, they won't have to grieve him a second time."

He thought she had settled to sleep but after a few moment, she whispered, "I understand the reason that we don't have time to check everyone who died. Burning the dead is a monumental task enough as it. But as for this man's family. . .if he were my kin? I would want to know, even if it meant a second grief. I would want to be with him, even if it was just for another few hours. Even at the price of pain."

She didn't exactly take his hand but she tangled their fingers together and Jaime clutched at her hand until she moved it to pat him on the shoulder. "Wake me if you need anything."

"Jon will be coming for me in a few hours. To try again." He felt her stiffen but then she nodded.

"Well in case you need anything before that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help throwing in a little bit about Tyrion's first wife, Tysha. I always thought his motivation in the show for killing his father were weak, especially considering they had an amazing reason, ready made and waiting and there had even been enough lead up to make it plausible (Tyion had told Bronn and Shay about Tysha and his marriage and Tywin passing the girl around his Soldiers). I never understood why they left it out until someone made a video about how David Benioff had identified with Charles Dance's portrayal of the Lannister family patriarch and softened a few of the uglier character traits. Also, some of the most likable scenes with Twyin take place between him and Arya in Harrenhall. Except in the books, Ayra was Roose Bolton's cup bearer in Herrenhall, not Tywin Lannister. I understand that for simplicity sake, sometimes adaptations need to combine characters to not get unmanageable. But that sequence went a long way towards whitewashing a character who was a lot crueler than he was portrayed in the books. I know I said I was going to stick more with show cannon than book cannon. . .but that particular omission of what Tywin did to his son's marriage always bugged me.


	8. Chapter 8

Jaime Lannister wasn't alone in his bed and Jon tried to wave Tormund back when he recognized Brienne's platinum hair but the Wildling had clearly seen and pushed foward with a laugh loud enough to wake everyone in bed and Jon blushed when he realized the two Knights were not alone.

"So there's hope for me yet," Tormund cackled. "I can see he's prettier than me and I don't grudge you, particularly if he can still get it up after the day he's had,but I think I could do better than the boy if. . . ." he trailed off as Brienne sat up and Jon was relieved to realize all three sleepers were fully dressed, even if Tormund was clearly just as surprised by it.

"Tormund," Jon said, keeping his voice soft. "Would you be so kind as to assist Ser Jaime without waking everyone else in the Hall."

"Will you let me go with him?" Brienne asked and Jon shook his head.

"No." The look on her face made him feel like he'd slapped her and he sighed as he realized that it might actually have been kinder to have physically struck her rather than insult her by implying she wouldn't guard Stark secrets with any less honor than she would Stark lives. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, as Tormund grabbed Jaime by the shoulder and helped him stand. Ser Jaime was unsteady for just a moment but he could clearly stand on his own and even walk but that didn't stop Tormund from grabbing the shorter man and lifting him off his feet.

"Come on, King Killer," the Wildling chuckled. "Let's get this over with so I can bring you back to your bed. Though I might have to give you a few hints about how this works better with no clothes."

"It's not," Jon said as Tormund and Jaime disappeared into the hallway, "that I don't think you are capable of keeping your own counsel. But this person we are trying to save has loved ones who have already grieved his death. We don't want to raise false hopes. But now six other people know he is still alive. Can you see how reluctant I am to add two more? No matter how much I trust them? I am not questioning your loyalty or your discretion or your honor. I am questioning my own decision to keep this a secret and adding two more people needlessly is a risk I am not willing to take right now."

The tightness around Ser Brienne's mouth faded a little bit and she gave a quick nod. She didn't agree, but Jon was grateful she didn't try to argue the point and he smiled at her. "In a way, you hold a great deal of my trust that you know someone is being healed at all. Could you imagine the chaos that would erupt if every person who had lost someone had their hopes raised that maybe their loved one is the one we are trying to heal. Or if we checked every corpse before getting it ready to burn. It would take us months to clear Winterfell if we did and I fear we don't have long before we don't have the ice." He'd gotten through to her, he realized as her eyes widened in what was no doubt the full realization of what would happen to Winterfell if the armies of corpses thawed.

"Six other people?" Jon turned to Brienne's squire, Poderick, who spoke with a slightly bemused smile.

"My brother, Sansa, Ser Jaime, Sam Tarly, Tormund and other man who has the right blood like Ser Jaime has."

"Is six the right number when we stand in the light of the Seven. Shouldn't Ser Brienne be allowed to be the seventh witness?"

"And you the eighth?"

Poderick shook his head. "No. I would have to be left out, of course. But having seven witnesses could be critical."

Jon had to force down the laugh at the seeming sincere expression on the Squire's face. "First of all, this Winterfell in the North. All are free to chose what gods they will, but we worship the Old Gods here. Not the Seven. But even supposing you were right, I would be the seventh witness."

The young man's face fell but he saw Jon's slight smile and grinned back. "I had to try."

"Yes, you did." He hesitated for a moment, thinking through the duties in Bran's chamber. "Come along, Ser Brienne. As I think on it, if we leave Tormund with the other man giving blood, people are less likely to question you and Ser Jaime moving about together than Ser Jaime and Tormund."

Her smile was genuine and she nodded. She added a jacket over the thin linen shirt and belted her sword at her waist. The hilt was ornate, rubies accenting a golden lion, and the red leather sheath hinted it also had originally been created for a Lannister.

"That's a beautiful sword," he said as he led her out of the room while Poderick added logs to the fire. "A gift from Ser Jaime?"

"Yes. His father gave it to him and he gave it to me to help me find your sisters. He carries its twin, which had originally been a gift to King Joffrey."

"I had heard someone say the two of you carried Valyrian steel blades and that was how you were able to keep the Wights back. I meant to ask where the Lannister's got them." He touched his fingers to the hilt of Long Claw. Daenerys had returned Heartsbane to Sam after the battle and he wondered absently what Sam would do with it.

Brienne had stopped and was eyeing him warily. "You don't know?" At his look of confusion she sighed. "No, you don't."

He swallowed convulsively, the sound of Ygritte whispering 'you know nothing, Jon Snow' playing in his memories along with the smile on her face as she had teased him and he almost had to blink back tears.

"I've been told that before," he said, hoping his wry humor could help her relax but if anything, she seemed tenser and she finally sighed.

"Did you ever wonder what happened to your father's sword?"

"Ice? I assumed someone had given it to the Mountain to carry. From what I've heard, he's Cersei's loyal creature and one of the few people big enough to carry it."

Brienne sighed deeply before drawing her sword from the scabbard turning it, hilt towards him. The steel was a dark, smokey gray that reminded him a little of Ice but had a reddish tinge to it and he lifted it, turning it to let the light play off the blade. The red hue seemed more of an illusion than being part of the blade and it took a moment for him to realize what she was saying. He lifted his left hand to run down the side of the blade, his eye mentally doubling it and removing all the Lannister trappings.

"I'm glad," he said softly, "that Gregor Clegane doesn't have it." He turned to offer it to her and she hesitated.

"It's yours. The Starks."

Jon felt his lip turn up as he swiveled so she could see the hilt of Long Claw.

"This one is mine. That one may belong to the Starks but I can think of no better use than for you to carry it in service of my sisters. My father would have been pleased."

"Thank you." She nodded slightly but there was no mistaking the relief in her eyes as she slid the sword back into her scabbard. "Ser Jaime thought it was only fitting to give the sword to me so I could carry on my vow to your m . .to Lady Catlin to find Sansa and Arya."

He had always known that Lady Stark had resented his presence as the symbol of her husband's infidelity and he wondered for a moment why his father had never told his wife. Except, he realized, Robert Baratheon would have been more suspicious if Lady Catlin had treated him just the same as his own children. Ned Stark and his wife had eventually come to a peaceful hostility about the past and he was reminded of yet another thing his father had given up to help protect him.

"House Stark could have asked for no one better. What did you name it?"

"Oathkeeper."

"Very fitting. You said twin swords. Ser Jaime has the other?"

"Yes. And I'm sorry to say Joffrey named it Widow's Wail. I don't know if Ser Jaime has changed it."

Jon snorted despite the flash of irritation of his father's sword in another man's hand. The Lannisters might have once been enemies of the Starks but Ser Jaime and Tyrion both had proved their worth as allies. "Let's hope so."

"I'm surprised Lady Sansa never told you about Ice. She was there when Lord Tywin presented it to King Joffrey at his wedding breakfast. The day he died."

"There has been so many things for Sansa and I to talk about. No doubt it would have come up someday." Brienne nodded in agreement and he led her down the stairs and to the Bran's chamber. Brienne looked surprised, then puzzled.

"Your brother wasn't injured, was he?"

"No. But it seemed as good a place as any."

He opened the door and led Brienne inside, shutting it behind him.

Sansa was sitting on the bed, one of her arms helping to support Qhozo's wrist, where the quill ran between him and Ser Jorah. Ser Jorah, Jon realized, had much better color but there was a faint sheen of sweat to his forehead as if he had a fever. He hoped they hadn't gone through everything they had to save Jorah only for him to die of infection. He saw Brienne's surprise at seeing Ser Jorah and heard Sam's explanation with Bran commenting as well but he focused on how Sansa's usually straight shoulders were bowed and she glared at him.

"I thought we agreed we not tell anyone else."

"We needed the help."

Tormund was getting Ser Jaime into position. Sam chose a vein along Jaime's right forearm and Jon watched the Knight grit his teeth as the quill was slid into position. From what Jon was able to tell from both Jaime and Qhozo's expressions, the actual movement of the quill into the vein was the worst. There was pain throughout all of it but much less during the movement of the blood than getting the quill in position.

Sansa let him help her adjust Qhozo back into the bed. The dothraki was pale with dark circles under his eyes but the man said something that sounded like it was meant to be funny. Jon tried to smile, which made the dothraki laugh and he wished he knew why.

"Sansa," he said softly. "Why don't you go to bed. I can be here while you rest."

He recognized the mulish look on his sister's face and felt a combination of fondness and exasperation. "You need your sleep too," she shot back. "You're working harder than I am. Moving the dead."

"Milady," Brienne said, walking over to where Tormund supported Jaime and gesturing for the red-headed Wilding to move aside. Jon was surprised when Tormund didn't make and comment or jest and Brienne slid in to help support Jaime's back and arm, though Sam corrected her and she adjusted according to his directions. "I had a nap. I can help as well. You and your brother should both get some sleep. You must both be seen tomorrow, and moreover, be seen to be cheerful and in good moods." Sansa looked about to argue but Jon saw the way her eyes flicked between Brienne and Jaime and he wasn't surprised when his sister nodded.

"Very well. But promise someone will come for me if I am needed."

As Brienne promised and Sansa proceeded to list every possible emergency she could think of, Jon turned to Jaime.

"Your sword. Widow's Wail." Jaime hadn't brought it from his chambers but Jon could see the dawning realization that the Lannister hadn't really thought about how the weapon really belonged to the Starks.

"Your brother was trying to negotiate for it during the war of five kings. Tyrion was always sorry he hadn't sent it back when he saw what my father did to it. I assume you want it back."

"You earned your claim to it yesterday. But I want you to make arrangements that on your death, it return to House Stark. Since you have no children to carry it. If you do every marry, we can discuss the matter again."

Jaime snorted. "And what about bastard children? Would you deny a bastard the right to carry it." His gaze was challenging and Jon shook his head.

"No. But Cersei's children are all dead." Too late he remembered Tyrion saying Cersei would support them because she was carrying another child and he realized that the child would also be Jaime's. "We don't know," he said, "if she lied to your brother to get him to believe her."

"She had no reason to lie to me and she had already told me before you showed us the wight. No doubt this is the conversation we need to revisit later. When the war is over."

"No doubt." Jon started to turn away to take Sansa's arm but then turned back.

"And change the name."

That surprised a laugh out of Ser Jaime. "I haven't come up with anything fitting. Calling it Ice again seemed like an insult. Wightkiller? Sounds like something one of those oafs who'd never held a sword shouted at Joffery the day he picked Widow's Wail."

"Change the name." Jon said again, more firmly but then he smiled slightly. "But maybe not right now."

He linked his arm with Sansa and he could feel the exhaustion his sister was trying to hide. "I can walk to my chamber alone," she teased and he took her hand and squeezed it affectionately.

"Humor me." He thought back to their childhood and how Sansa had resented him so much on behalf of her mother. The rest of the Stark children had loved him without thought and he always thought that it would be Arya he would be closest too. But Arya was an island unto herself, with walls even Jon knew he couldn't scale and he had once climbed The Wall.

"Where is Arya?" he asked, realizing he hadn't seen his sister all day. 

"She's been about. You know Arya. She wants to be on her own. She always has, but now more than ever. I saw her working the Gendry and Sandor Clegane today. I thought of asking for her help with Ser Jorah but decided too many people already knew." She raised one eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

"It felt right. I think he needs her." Sansa nodded agreement, even though he hadn't specified who he meant and he decided he didn't need too. Sansa had clearly noticed the slightly charged dynamic between Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne. "I'm going to ask him to go to Kings Landing with us. Because I think he needs to be asked. But would you be willing to ask him to stay here to help protect Winterfell. I think that would be better for him."

"I agree. Do you know why I decided not to ask Arya to join us today?"

"Because you thought too many people knew alrready?" he teased and she smiled slightly.

"Well, that too. No. Queen Cersei always treated anyone who wasn't family like they were her enemy. She hated what Joffrey had become and she was furious because her father planned to marry her to Loras Tyrell and send her to Highgarden. But they were family and so to her, she wasn't able to stand up for herself against them. I love my family. And I trust them. But I won't become like her. I won't believe that being a Stark makes you right and being anyone else makes you wrong." She hesitated for a moment. "I think. . .I might have forgotten that lesson when Daenerys first arrived. I still don't like that you bent the knee. But I am willing to concede that she cares about the North, even if she doesn't understand it." They had reached Sansa's bedchamber and she kissed him on the cheek. "We can talk more about it tomorrow. Get some sleep. I never understood," she said as he started to turn away and he recognized exhausted rambling, "why she hated the thought of marrying Ser Loras. Margery tried to arrange for me to marry him and I adored the idea. Married to someone like Ser Loras and escaping Kings Landing sounded like a dream. Ser Loras and I could have gotten on together. He was kind. I would have been disappointed when I realized it wasn't a great love match like I first thought. I was so naive. Everyone else knew he preferred men to women except me. But even I figured it out eventually. Which meant if Cersei didn't want to marry because she wanted to be with Ser Jaime, she could easily have allowed Ser Loras his lovers while she kept her brother. It just seemed so short sighted."

Sansa so rarely talked about her time in Kings Landing, Jon tried to look interested but he couldn't help the yawn and Sansa smiled at him. "Goodnight." She slipped into her bedchamber and he continued down the hall. His childhood room at Winterfell had been small but it had its own fireplace so he had expected to move back into it when he returned. After Castle Black, it had felt huge when he had visited it but Sansa had put him in one of the better guest chambers, just a few doors down from her own.

The room was surprisingly warm when he entered it and he saw the fire had recently had more wood added to it. Daenerys was asleep in his bed and he almost turned to find another room when he realized she would have come to him for comfort. She looked like an exhausted child and traces of dirt around her hair showed she'd wiped herself with a rag but hadn't really bathed. She was fully dressed and the look misery on her face, even while she slept, touched his heart. Part of him was horrified that he had made love to his own aunt but he could feel his body's response to her. It reminded him a little of when he been with Ygritte. Part of him had known she was the enemy but the other part of him had only seen her beauty and her laughing voice as she had teased him. It felt wrong to compare the two women with each other so he turned away. The water in his pitcher was tepid and he wet a towel and wiped his hands and face and stripped down to his shirt and breaches. 

He had woken Daenerys, he saw, and she watched as he moved around the room, hanging the belt with Longclaw on the chair near the bed and settling his leather armor so all the straps were open and the pieces ready to be donned easily.

She looked like she wasn't sure if he wanted her there and she didn't speak while he pulled off his boots and socks and couldn't resist burying his tired feet into the fur beside his bed.

"Do you want me to leave?" Her voice was matter of fact and he thought back to seeing Jaime, Brienne and Poderick all sharing a bed. At first he had let his imagination drift into the sexual but he saw the same need in Daenery's eyes of comfort and he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.

"No." 

She half sat up and he saw that she too wore a simple shirt and loose linen trousers that would have slid down so easily if he had pulled at the waist but he crawled into the bed beside her, feeling the aches of his body he had been putting off noticing all day.

The tears were pooling at the corners of her eyes and in that moment he almost told her that Ser Jorah lived but he thought of the fever the man clearly had and how Sam didn't know if he would even be alive in the morning.

She curled her shoulders against his chest and he brought his arms around her so he held her and he felt the silent sobs rack her body.

"I'm sorry about Ser Jorah." He said and she nodded.

"I never thought of taking the Seven Kingdoms without him." A tiny hint of a smile turned the corner of her mouth up. "Well, not before I banished him. And not after he came back to me on Dragonstone after Sam had healed him of grayscale. I miss him. I see people celebrating and people being useful and people together and it felt like he was always the one to be at my side and I miss his presence. I. . ." Her eyes filled with a fresh wave of tears.

"He was the one who would have understood what it felt like to have Viserion attack me."

"He came after me too," Jon offered. "I've never felt anything burn and freeze at the same time like that. I. . . ." It hadn't been what she was looking for, Jon realized, after the words left his mouth. He inhaled and despite his reluctance to talk about Ygritte, he said, "I told you I loved someone once and she was dead." Daenerys clearly didn't understand why he was mentioning it because she looked hurt but she nodded. "She was a Wildling. She had red hair. A little like Tormund. She didn't look anything like Tormund. I. . .I had to pretend to join them so I could get back to the Wall and let them know about Mance Rayder's plans. But when I was with her. . .part of me was doing it so they didn't think I was still a Crow. And part of me loved her. Really loved her. When she found out I was still a Crow. . . ." He rolled over and pulled his shirt up so she could see the scars from the arrows. There had been two in his back and one in his hip. "I loved her. And she shot me three times. Then during the battle of the Wall, she was going to kill me when someone else shot her. She died in my arms. It was hard to have someone I loved so much. . .try to kill me."

That was the right thing to say, Jon could tell, "I know how much you loved your dragons. Your children."

She was weeping openly, and Jon tightened his grip on Daenery's shoulders, pulling her against him and letting her grieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be short chapter from Jon's perspective to just transition us so I can move one to more Jaime/Brienne. This story's ultimate endgame is all about Jorah/Daenerys but not point in not getting to play with another pairing I've been interested in, especially since 8x4 made the whole thing cannon. In fact, I think it is going to move up my timetable a little (a lot). Turns out Jaime is even shittier at flirting than Brienne and completely unable to just come out and say what he wants. And that made me adore it. His pathetic excuse about needing to take off his shirt because the room was warm. It was so incredibly awkward and painful to watch that it felt like something a real person would do (how many of us have made pathetic excuses to get close to someone we've liked). Also, I loved Pod just a little bit more when Tyrion made the comment about being virgin and Pod drank so that maybe Brienne wouldn't feel so bad. . .we all know Pod isn't a virgin (and Tyrion knows it, even if Brienne and Jaime might not) but I just thought he was just a darling for making the gesture. Sadly, as much as I loved that scene, I don't think I'm going to try to recreate it. I will try to draw a little bit on stupid-human excuses and maybe use a little bit of it. . .but I probably won't try to mirror it exactly. But that doesn't mean I didn't love it for 8x4.
> 
> Well, enough gushing about 4x8. As I said, this was supposed to be a short transition chapter but things kept happening. No real plot movement, of course. But a thousand-and-one things that I had always wanted to try to talk about. The Starks acknowledging that Jaime and Brienne carry Ice. . .the possibility of changing Widow's Wail to a new name (top two contenders are "Frost" (a reference to Ice and Winter is Coming) and "Memory" (referencing how that battle will be remembered and also 'The North Remembers). But neither of those feels quite right so I had Jon and Jaime agree to revisit the topic later. Sansa knew what had happened to Ice, and I can't think why she wouldn't have told Jon other than I am assuming they just had so much other stuff to deal with it had just never come up. And Jon carries a Valyrian steel sword already so while he would like to reclaim Ice, he won't abandon Longclaw since Ser Jorah affirmed that it belonged to Jon. I also, via Sansa's exhausted ramble, got to mention why I always thought Cercei was stupid for fighting against her marriage to Loras Tyrell. He would never have touched her and she could have manipulated him into taking up a semi-permanent residence in Kings Landing so she could have been near her children and Jaime.
> 
> Finally, with the end scene with Daenerys and Jon, make no mistake, this is a Daenerys/Jorah endgame. But we have a long way to go before we get there and we will probably end up with some Jon/Daenerys interludes before she finds out Jorah is alive (also, warning, we might have to get a little Cercei/Jaime to keep up some balance). It won't end that way. . .but I'm thinking that road may get taken for a bit. However, I wanted Daenerys to feel lost and alone and reach out to Jon for comfort. I want to establish these two in a good solid friendship because I'm going to put them through a little hell and I need them to be able to get along when we come out the other side. They won't end up together but they are nephew and aunt as well as two major players in the Game that have to be in step at some time if the country is to avoid another war.


	9. Chapter 9

Daenerys struggled against the witch who held her down, the hands against her stomach glowing with evil magic aimed at killing her son and she screamed, knowing Drogo couldn't help her but that perhaps Jorah or one of the other Dothraki might be able to save her and Rheago. It was the scream that woke her, she realized, and she panted, staring around the cold stone Northern chamber rather than the hot hide tent where she had expected to be.

The hands, she saw, were Jon's, and he gripped her hands. His eyes were wide and she could see his lips moving but couldn't hear anything over the sounds of her own breathing. He was saying her name, she realized, and she returned the pressure of his palms with her own. He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her forehead and she leaned forward so she rested against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to say and he shook his head.

"Don't be. I. . . ." He sighed and stood, pouring something into a cup and holding it out to her. She was expecting wine but the cool water against her mouth helped rise the taste of the nightmare from her mouth and she guzzled it before sipping the second cup he poured her more slowly. It would be exactly like Jon, she thought, to have water in his room.

"You what?" Her voice was stronger but she could hear the tremors in it as well.

He inhaled, finally sitting beside her again and one of her arms went around her waist and pulled her against him. It was the sort of hug she'd seen him give his sisters rather than the embrace a man would give his lover but it was incredibly comforting to know she wasn't alone. Daenerys Stormborn needed no one and she had worked so hard to preserve that illusion that she knew she sometimes needed someone to remind her she was still a human. She remembered Jorah telling her that no one could make it through life alone and her eyes flooded with fresh tears when she realized she would never again have him to advise her and Jorah to turn to when she needed another person. Tyrion did his best but he still saw her as his queen before anything else. Jorah, she realized, could have stopped her from burning the Tarly's alive.

"You scare me sometimes," Jon finally admitted. "Seeing you have a nightmare makes you feel more real." His arm tightened around her waist as if to take the sting out of his words and she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I am real," she whispered, turning her head and brushing her lips against his. She felt him start to pull away and she remembered Doreah's lecture so many years ago and met his gaze, letting him see the pain and loneliness in her eyes. "I am very real." She kissed the side of his jaw.

"Dany," he whispered and she turned in his embrace so she could wrap her arms around his back. "Daenerys." She spread her hands across his back. "This is wrong." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself and she smiled.

"Because we share blood? My parents were brother and sister. I grew up expecting to marry Viserys. If anything," she kissed him again, "I should be upset your blood is diluted by the Starks." One of her hands went to his cheek and he groaned against her mouth but his own hands had wrapped around her back and she tipped them backwards so she was on top of him. His hands had stripped her pants off her as he had kicked off his own and she crawled up him to sit astride him, one hand wrapping around his cock before sliding herself down onto it. One of his hands went to her hip and the other moved under her shirt to brush her right breast. His touch was a mix of aroused and tender and she leaned down to claim his mouth. She needed someone, she realized, to help drive away the grief and anger, to help remind her that she was alive and there were joys to living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I needed to go back to Daenerys perspective, even for just a short time, to help show her growing desperation. My version of Daenerys isn;t going to get to the extreme that she reached in 8x5 but I still want to show some of the same pressure. She's still going to make some bad choices, but nothing to that extent and using Jon to help ground herself is one of the ways she's coping. It might not be the healthiest method, but it beats burning a city.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 8x5 in the notes at the end of the Chapter. So if you haven't watched "The Bells" don't read the notes at the end.

Pod was gone when Brienne helped Jaime back into his room. She sat him on the bed and bent to get his boots and he felt himself falling backwards. He was pretty sure he passed out because when he opened his eyes, she was leaning over him and he smiled, reaching hand up to brush against her hair. She batted it aside easily, swinging his legs onto the bed and pulling a blanket over him but he still shivered and she added more logs to the fire before coming back to stare down at him. She was to far away, he decided, and he caught her hand as she started to turn away, muttering something about finding Poderick.

"If you have everything you need," she said, "I'l be back as soon as I find Pod."

"Pod," Jaime sighed, his arms falling limply beside him, as if he had very little control over them, "may be off celebrating being alive."

"He shouldn't drink too much. Trying to move the rest of the dead tomorrow will be bad enough without a stuffed head." He swung his hand and managed to grab hers.

"There are other ways," he slurred, almost smiling at how drunk he sounded, to match how drunk he felt, "to celebrate life. From what I've heard, he doesn't have much of a reason to drink." He wasn't sure at first if she was purposely misunderstanding him but then her eyes widened. "Let him have some fun. I'd say he's earned it." She still looked disapproving but she didn't deny it, even if Jaime had to tighten his grip on her hand to keep her from moving away.

She looked conflicted but finally settled herself on the bed and he wiggled his way against her, muttering something about the cold.

"I wonder if this will work," Brienne mused. "Ser Jorah's color is better but I don't know if any man could survive that fever."

"If he doesn't, it won't be for lack of trying," Jaime said, pressing his back against Brienne's torso. He felt her try to shift away and wasn't aware he had growled until the sound left his throat. He winced, expecting some kind of tirade from her but she leaned over him, the look on her face a mix of confused and bemused.

"Did you just growl at me?"

"I spend an entire night fighting at your back, a day lifting corpses by your side, give more blood than I have to spare to a man who may yet die and I'm so damn cold and tired I almost wish I could have died out there on that wall so I could have rested. The only thing making me glad to be alive right now is you are warm and yet you pull away from me out of some misplaced sense of honor. Woman, I couldn't ravish you now even if I wanted to." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could call them back but rather than looking insulted, she smiled and moved closer to him. She didn't have Cercei's curves and he would have said she was the least feminine person he knew but without her armor, either the physical plate or the defensive manner, there was something about her that made his breath catch in his throat. It wasn't the same as the mad passion and lust he felt for his twin but he was unexpectedly emotional and he cuddled against her side, grateful for the heat and the arm she wrapped around his shoulder.

"I suppose there is something to that." She sounded reluctant to admit it and he started to turn his head but her throat was there and he felt his cock twitch and almost laughed because he wasn't sure until that moment that he had enough blood left in his body to be aroused. "What's so funny?" She asked and he wished he could share the joke but didn't want to make him think he was mocking her.

"I gave a hand to protect your virtue," he finally said, hoping that she wouldn't ask if that was all he found amusing.

"And you never miss an opportunity to remind me of that," she said, her voice dry. "I think I've thanked you enough times. But be proud of yourself if you must."

"Prouder I made you a Knight," he whispered, finally lifting his head to meet her eyes and seeing a tenderness in hers he wasn't expecting before she steeled her expression.

"Thank you for that," Her whisper sounded sincere and he moved his face into her shoulder.She tensed but didn't pull away.

"That may have been the best thing I've ever done," he whispered, and her shiver confused him until he realized he'd been just at edge her collar and she had to have been reacting to his breath on his skin.

He had heard of wine giving men courage with women and he supposed being drunk with blood-loss did the same because he rolled himself onto his side to face her. "I knew you didn't hate me anymore. But I never thought you'd forgiven me enough to find me attractive."

The look on her face was a mixture of stricken and angry but he leaned in to kiss her. He had aimed for her lips but with his lack of balance he slipped and ended up somewhere in the middle of her chin and he swore, "Here I lay in bed with with noblest Knight in the Seven Kingdoms who also happens to be the most beautiful Knight in the Seven Kingdoms and I'm too weak to do anything about it beyond a good cuddle."

He could see the hurt in her eyes and realized she thought he was mocking her and he settled for kissing her chin again.

"I am not the most beautiful--"

"Do you think I would risk your depriving me of your warmth by insulting you or jesting at your expense. I said the most beautiful Knight, not the most beautiful woman. Granted, your competition is who? The Clegane brothers? Ser Davos? I grant, if Ser Loras was alive, I probably would have had to have called you the second most beautiful Knight in the Seven Kingdoms but he's dead."

One her hands reached out to trace his jaw and he heard the tremble in her voice. "What about you?"

"Maybe before the war of the Five Kings. When I had both my hands and was the golden Knight. But now? I wear a beard because I'm not steady enough to shave with my left hand and I don't trust anyone else with a razor at my throat."

"Would you trust me?" she whispered and he felt his throat go dry.

"You know I would." She buried her face in his shoulder and one of her hands moved in his beard.

"I'll help you shave it tomorrow, if that's what you really want. But," she hesitated and then he felt her lips against his beard, "I like it. The Golden Knight cared only about his pride and appearance. You., the man you are now, cares more about honor." He took her hand and squeezed it tightly and he saw just a hint of a smile before she dipped her head and kissed him. He could only imagine that his lips were dry and cracked but hers were warm and trembled and he almost growled again in pure physical reaction to the feel of her against him. He didn't try to force his tongue into her mouth but he kept up the pressure for a long time before withdrawing just seconds before he fell against the pillow. Brienne looked a mix of elated and terrified but she brushed a hand against his jaw again. "Though maybe a trim might be in order."

"I trust my throat entirely in your hands," he said, taking one of hers and squeezing it. "I just wish I wasn't so weak right now."

"You're doing a good thing trying to save a man's life," she assured him and then he watched her face change. "But if. . .when you're feeling stronger, you change your mind and this was just a moment of weakness from blood loss, you mustn't try to pretend --"

"Do you think so little of yourself?" he asked and the pain in her eyes told him she did. He tightened his grip and her fingers and brought her hand below the blanket then stared into her eyes. "Do you trust me?" he echoed. She gave a jerky nod and he slowly drew her hand to his groin, giving her the chance to pull away but she didn't and he brushed the back of her knuckles over his cock and felt he groin tighten even more. "That's what you do to me," 

She looked startled but he could see the curiosity in her face and he ran her hand up and back, enjoying the dual sensation of her hand in his and her hand on his cock. "I shouldn't have enough blood to do that right now?" he whispered, leaning over to kiss her gently on this lips. This time hers parted and he delved in and she made a startled sound like a tiny squeak but she kissed him back and her hand settled against his groin without his hand to guide her and he groaned.

He was panting by the time she broke the kiss, the lightheaded-ness partially due to arousal and part to plain lack of blood. He felt nearly as tired as he had after the battle and he was sorry to feel her hand leave him but then she was pulling at the ties at the neck of his shirt and at his breaches and he moved his hand to stop her. He hated that she thought so little of herself that she looked hurt and he kissed the side of her jaw.

"We should wait," he whispered. "I need to be stronger if I am going to do this the right way. . .to make love to you like you deserve."

Something in her face hardened and he was about to protest again that he wanted her but she cut him off. "Can you do it? Even if you don't think it's the right way?"

"I can. But It won't be what you deserve for your first time. I won't be able to take the time I should with you and --"

"I don't care about that. If there is anything I learned about that battle it's that we may not have the time to do all the things we want like we had planned. I don't care if you think it could be better. I want. . ." She was blushing, he noticed and her brief burst of bravery had left her trembling, as if she was terrified to say the words. 

No doubt, he realized, she was. He remembered some of the more poisonous insults he had thrown at her casually when they had first met. He had been furious and frustrated, physically impotent and shocked to discover she was stronger than he was as well as a better swordsman so he had used words as his weapons and the wounds he had inflicted has been so deep they'd never fully healed. There was no taking them back but he kissed her, wrapping his left hand in her hair and stroking the platinum silk. "I want," he whispered, taking up her words where she had left off, "you to be mine." Her sapphire eyes widened and he saw the sheen of tears and he kissed her again. "I want to be yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved the scene in 8x4 where Jaime finally decides he wants to be with Brienne, even though he makes up about the stupidest excuse in human history to start out: It's hot in here so I need to take my shirt off? Seriously? For a few seconds I was pissed at the writers for not doing a better job but then, how many of us came up with equally stupid things to say to people we were in love with when we weren't sure how they felt. How many of us have been guilty of "falling asleep" so we can rest our head on the other person's shoulder? (um. . .me) It's a very high-school style courtship because usually as we get a little older, we've had a little experience with rejection and it's not the crisis situation it was when we were younger. Because we're used to it. Except, Jaime Lannister wouldn't have been used to it. Up until he slept with Brienne, he had been 100% faithful to Cercei so he had no experience with any other woman. So clearly, his ability to flirt when he really cared about someone was truly awful. And after hating it, the scene was strangely endearing. I would have liked to have replicated it but a lot depending on the drinking game and this group isn't ready to start celebrating anything yet. There are still a lot of bodies to clean (Army of the Living and Army of the Dead all need burned) so it would have felt strange to do a celebration yet. Also, Jaime's running a pint or two low by this point (so it Qhozo. . .but I have no plans to explore his sex life. . .I'm trying to make him an interesting character in his own right but really, he's a walking, braided blood bank and he doesn't speak the common tongue so while I don't want him to be flat, we won't be getting chapters from his perspective) so he's not to warm and he can barely stand up on his own right now. I'm hoping that this scene has some of the awkwardness to it, even though I tried to give it some depth of feeling. Brienne is still not completely comfortable with heself yet and Jaime is still a lot hung up on Cersei. . .but he's starting to realize there is more than one type of love and maybe the kind he has with his sister isn't the most healthy and that maybe being with Brienne will help him to be better than he is when he is with Cercei. They both have a long way to go. And I am pretty sure Jaime is going to have a detour via the Red Keep. But don't worry. This story won't end with him and Cersei dying in each others arms. I hated the fact that Ser Jaime died without getting a chance to go back to Brienne, but the scene between him and Cersei was surprisingly moving when she first saw him and realized he had come back for her. I liked that Cersei's main fear of dying was that she didn't want her baby to die and that Jaime was able to comfort her. In my version, Jaime and Brienne will be together in the end (she's going to hate that he leaves in the first place, but she's going to understand why a little more. He has an obligation to try to save Kings Landing from a battle as well as misguided love for his sister and another chance to be a father again. Brienne understands putting duty before what you want) but there's still a road to travel before we get there. However, after last night. . .I kind of wanted to spend carve out a tiny bit of peace and happiness for these two characters.


	11. Chapter 11

Death was boring at first. He had never really considered an afterlife but it wasn't until he was gradually aware of the the utter blackness and soundless void that he realized he'd subconsciously pictured the pine hall of Bear Island with his mother and father and maybe even all the children that Alys had lost before they were born. While he most wished to see his father to beg his forgiveness for dishonoring the Mormont name, he was also proud that he would be able say he had been present in the battle that had brought down the Night King. He wasn't surprised Alys wasn't there -- she would have been wherever the Glover's went upon death -- but he was a little sad. He and Alys had never really loved each other but they had been fond of each other in their own way and it wasn't until he had married Lynesse that he realized how much he had taken Alys' gentle companionship for granted.

Eventually, the numbness faded to pain and Jorah concluded that he had gone to whatever hell the septons had talked about when he hadn't really paid attention. He alternated between burning hor and freezing cold and no part of his body didn't hurt. He could bear the pain, he decided. He was used to that. But he wished he wasn't doomed to always be alone.

It wasn't until later that he became aware of the voices. At first they were too far away to make out but he took comfort in their presence, even if they seemed separated from him somehow. He wasn't sure how long he had been hearing them, though it felt like eternity, when he realized he did know one of them. He was distantly sorry that Tormund Giantsbane had died as well, but he wondered if they would somehow manage to be able to visit each other in the afterlife. Tormund certainly sounded like he was having a great deal more fun than he was, even if he was probably drinking that apalling sour goat milk he was always trying to get others to sample.

At first he longed for Daenery's voice but he soon realized that if he didn't hear her, that meant she hadn't died and he wished he could have remained forever in the moment where he had been in her arms. 

The next voice he recognized was Samwell Tarly and he wondered who would carry Heartsbane now that he and Sam were both dead and if the sword had been properly restored to House Tarly. Unsurprisingly, Sam was talking about healing and using words like septic fever and tincture of silver. A dothraki kept interrupting Sam to complain about honor being a clean death but Sam never entered into any debates with the Dothraki and Ser Jorah was surprised that different languages continued, even in the afterlife. 

He wasn't sure when the idea first occurred to him that he might have been alive but he dismissed it because if was alive, he would have heard Daenery's voice at some point, begging him to heal and come back to her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will come as no surprise to the reader that Ser Jorah is alive but I decided to have it be a surprise to Ser Jorah. Apparently there is no name in cannon for his first wife so I went ahead and picked one, since he would have thought of her by name.


	12. Chapter 12

They finished piling the last of the dead late in the afternoon of the fourth day after the Night King's defeat. Sansa had ordered four hogs slaughtered the day before and started roasting them in the morning. For feasts, it was simple fare, but between the ale, the pork and the bread, the main hall rang with laughter and jests finally, as if the survivors had finally accepted that they hadn't died with their comrades. 

Or most of them. Arya, she realized, wasn't in the hall and she sighed, resisting the urge to send someone to fetch her sister. It was her duty as a Stark to be there but Sansa decided it was time she made peace with the fact that Arya was always going to be different. The rebellious child who had frustrated her so much may have grown into adulthood but it had been that wild streak that had enabled her to survive on the streets on Kings Landing, in the flight across Westeros and finally as a Braavosi guttersnipe that had become a Faceless Man. Arya talked about her experiences about the same amount Sansa described her time with Ramsey -- nearly nothing -- but she did know that Arya had killed Walder Frey and his sons.  
x  
Ramsey had never confirmed that he had aided his father in conspiring with the Freys and the Lannisters to murder her mother and Robb, but Sansa smiled slightly at the memory of her husband's screams as his hounds had torn his flesh apart. She would never be the killer that her sister was, but she had still had her chance to help avenge her family. And as for Lord Baelish, she thought, with grim satisfaction, Arya may have been the one to physically cut his throat, but it had been on Sansa's orders. They made a good team, Sansa decided. One day, she might need to share her experiences at the hands of the Lannisters, Littlefinger and the Bolton's with her sister and maybe even ask what her sister had seen and done herself but she was pretty sure none of them were ready for it.

The sound of Tyrion's voice, shouting something over a burst of laughter at his table caught her attention. He had started at the head table but it hadn't been long before he'd abandoned it to go sit with his brother and Brienne. Ser Jaime was still a little pale but Sam had been taking less blood from him for the last few days. Ser Jorah's fever was still high and some of his wounds weren't healing as well as anyone wanted. He'd been restless, tossing and half-vocalizing words but he'd shown no sign of coming back to consciousness. Sam had said that within the next week his body would either fight off the infection or he would succumb to the fever. Part of Sansa wished they had told Daenerys that Ser Jorah was still alive she looked over at where the Queen sat near Jon and smiled at them. Daenerys was clearly still grieving for her friend as well as her Dothraki and Unsullied troops that had fallen. She may have not ever even spoken to many of them but Sansa respected that they were more than just meaningless Soldiers to her.

Tyrion had said something else that made everyone laugh and Sansa smiled, even though she didn't know what it was. She had never thought she would think kindly of Jaime Lannister after he had attacked her father in the streets of Kings Landing but now that she saw the close bond between him and Tyrion, she could respect that he had been trying to force Ned into making her mother release Tyrion. Blaming Littlefinger helped her let go of the bitterness she had felt for Ser Jaime. She was glad the Knight had been gone from Kings Landing when Ned had been killed because she wasn't sure she would have been able to forgive him if he had helped Joffrey murder her father. He also, she knew, had been with Ser Brienne during the time Twyin had conspired with the Boltons and the Freys so he would have been equally innocent in the death of her mother.

Brienne was sitting close by Jaime's right side but she had turned to say something to Poderick on her other side and Sansa felt her eyebrows rise as she watched Jaime shift his head to drop a quick kiss on her left shoulder. Brienne's didn't turn away from Poderick, but Sansa saw her grip his right forearm with her hand for just a moment. Sansa smiled slowly, not sure exactly when -- between Brienne's self imposed task of taking on more than her share of clearing Winterfell of the dead as well as assisting Ser Jaimie with his bloodsharing with Ser Jorah -- the two of them had found the time or the energy to become lovers but they clearly had. She was happy for them, she decided. Brienne turned her head to say something to Jaime finally and the woman was practically glowing with happiness. 

Sansa's own experiences with Ramsey had left her unwilling to allow anyone to touch her but she was aware that the act could be pleasurable for a woman. She just had no practical experience with it herself. She should have, she thought darkly, allowed Tyrion to bed her while they had still been married. Margery had told her that Tyrion had a reputation for knowing how to please women. She had considered herself lucky that he had never pressed his attentions on her but she wondered -- if she had been experieced -- if Ramsey would have delighted in tormenting her nearly as much.

Daenerys had been talking to Gendry and Sansa realized she had just declared Robert Baratheon's bastard the Lord of Storm's End and Sansa lifted her cup to drink a toast. The Queen and Jon were whispering something to each other and Sansa could see they were both smiling. She had been worried because something had clearly been bothering Jon, even after the Night King had died, but whatever it was, Jon seemed to have moved past it. She knew he would be going with Daenerys when she left for King's Landing and part of Sansa idly wondered if he would remain in Kings Landing as Daenery's consort. Lyanna Mormont had named Jon King of the North and had been furious when he had bent the knee to Daenerys and Sansa had agreed with her. But without Daenery's dragons, the Unsullied and the Dothraki, Sansa doubted any of them would have survived the battle for Winterfell.

She had once wanted so badly to go to Kings Landing and to be Queen of Westeros but Sansa felt herself shiver at the thought of ever leaving the North again. She would have to go to Kings Landing, she thought idly, when Daenerys gave birth to her and Jon's heir, but -- if Jon wasn't to be Warden of the North -- Daenerys was sure to confirm Sansa's own appointment, and she intended to rule as her father did; from the North.

That was what had been missing, Sansa realized. Daenerys should have legitimized Jon as Jon Stark either just before or just after she had made Gendry into a Baratheon. Sansa swallowed her resentment, forcing herself to relax the tight grip of her hand on her cup. Daenerys had confessed she loved Jon, and Sansa was sure Jon returned her affections. Either Daenerys planned to marry him as he was or she would legitimize her brother some other time, which would make him a more fitting consort for the Queen of Westeros.

The room was warm from so many bodies and the fire and Sansa felt her exhaustion stealing over her gradually. She was relaxed and finally happy and could look forward to the next day without having to worry about bodies rotting. She knew Daenerys planned to move her troops soon and Sansa wished the men could have been given more time to heal, but they had gotten the Raven that Theon's sister had retaken the Iron Islands in the name of Danerys and by moving south, they would force the Iron Fleet to remain in Blackwater Bay rather than counterattack against Baelon's daughter. Euron's niece would be little use to them in the fight for Kings Landing itself, but she would cut off further reinforcements to the both Iron Fleet and more men and equipment for the Golden Company.

She filled a plate with pork, fried apples, thick slices of bread and a horn of ale and carried it down the corridor to Bran's room. Samwell and Quozo both looked up when she entered and she divided the food among them. Quozo ate his heartily, laughing at something he said but Sam set his aside, his gaze miserable as he stared at Ser Jorah.

"I'm not sure he's going to make it. I still can't get his fever down." Sansa picked up his plate and handed it back to him and he shrugged but ate finally.

"You've done the best you could. We knew this might happen...that this was the most likely outcome."

"I. . .I healed him once of grayscale and that was a far more daunting task than this ever was. I. . ." he tailed off as she patted his shoulder.

"You're a good man, Samwell Tarly. I can sit with him if you wish to go enjoy the feast."

"No thank you, Milady. I'd rather stay here. I'd say Quozo should go but. . . ." They both exchanged a look and Sansa sighed.

"I'm quite certain everything thinks Quozo died and was burned. If he goes out there now, it will cause too many questions." Quozo was watching them from his seat near the fire and he was smiling about something. There were other dothraki among the most severely wounded that would be staying on in Winterfell and it would be easiest to keep him with them, once Daenerys and her Army left Winterfell. Even thought they couldn't understand each other, he was clearly an intelligent man and he also clearly realized what he could gain if he saved the life of his Queen's favorite adviser. "Once Daenerys goes south, he can leave the room again."

Sam grimaced slightly and wrinkled his nose. "He needs a bath. But I'm afraid to have someone bring with water in or be seen carrying it myself."

"What's Bran been doing?" Sansa asked.

"He's gone to the kitchen a few times. Tells them that way he closer to where he heats the water and he has someone to help him. Poor boy has been sleeping in his chair but he claims it doesn't bother him. I would send Quozo to bathe in my room but Gilly doesn't know what I am doing. She'd not talk. . .not if I asked her to keep silent. . .but I know you and Jon want to keep others from knowing." Gilly had been busy caring for half a dozen orphaned babies and Sansa doubted she'd had much time to notice where Sam went when she thought he was caring for wounded. Since Wildling women nursed longer then many Westrosi women, she still had milk and she and another young woman with milk were trying to keep the babies fed. Sansa had heard Gilly comment she now knew what it felt like to be a milch cow, but the young woman had been surprisingly cheerful. The fact that she was swelling with another child was becoming evident, and Sansa hoped it would keep both her and Sam at Winterfell.

"All this will be much easier when Daenerys moves south. But I can smuggle him up to my chamber and arrange a bath for him there if you think he needs it."

"He does. I've sponged him as much as I can but he was pretty rank after the battle and with all the cuts we've been giving him, he'll be in danger of infection if we don't do anything about it. Though I'm not sure how you'll convince him to bathe. I don't know that dothraki do."

"I suppose I'll manage a way." She took the stack of four empty plates from earlier meals and carried them to the kitchen. The servants were eating their own meal and she waved them down when they went to stand.

"Someone would have fetched those, Milady," one of the maids told and she smiled.

"They weren't in the Hall. They were in one of the rooms," Sansa told her and the girl smirked.

"Night like tonight, there will be a lot of things out of place in the rooms. Lots of people too. Half the serving girls aren't going to be back until morning, I reckon."

The cook gave the serving girl a quelling glance. "Bet, what a way to speak to Lady Stark. Pardon her, Milady. She wasn't well bred."

Sansa smiled at the cook and the maid both. "It's alright. I suppose, after the last week, many people are trying to remember it is good to be alive." She hesitated, glancing around the kitchen. "With all the extra work, would it be too much to have hot water fetched to my chambers later?"

"Not at all," the cook said. Her gray hair was coming out of her braid but her eyes were bright "I'll have Bet bring it up in half an hour if that is alright."

"That would be fine." She could take Quozo up with her now, she decided, and hide him in the large wooden wardrobe with her dresses. The advantage to having her parents room was the small stone chamber with a drain in the floor so while water had to be brought to her, it was no problem to empty the tub again at the end of the bath.

The feast was starting to break up but no one stopped her on her way back to Bran's room and she and Sam waited until the corridor was empty before motioning Quozo to follow her. The man was clearly confused but he seemed amused by her and Sam's attempts to mime directions to him. He followed her willingly enough but he seemed genuinely surprised when she led him into her chamber and gestured to him that she wanted him to get into her wardrobe. She didn't understand anything he said but she got the feeling he was irritated about being asked to hide. However, after a few more gestures, he clearly decided to humor her, though he rolled his eyes and said something she both wanted to try to remember to ask Missandei and also decided was probably unwise because the other woman would probably want to know who had said it. She doubted it was anything complimentary.

Bet and two other helpers brought the water and they all seemed suitably silent, as if they had been lectured by the cook, but Sansa exchanged a quick grin with the girl to let her know that Sansa hadn't minded what she had said. She probably hadn't been raised right, Sansa reflected sadly. Her mother had run the household with far more propriety but Bet would have been probably seven or eight when Lady Catilyn had died beside her eldest son and since then, Winterfell had been invaded by Ironborn and Boltons.

After the last servant left the room, Sansa got Quozo out of the closet and tried not to giggle at the irritated look on the dothraki's face. He was shaking his head and she led him to the small chamber and steaming tub and she laughed out loud when he turned to her and spoke. She might not have understood his language, but he had clearly just told her she was crazy and that he wasn't getting into the tub. 

She mimed splashing water on her arms and scrubbing them off, then finally reached out to lift his arm. She touched one of the cuts where they had inserted the quill and pointed back to the water, then back to his arm. His skin was hot and smooth under her fingertips and she touched it to the cut, trying to trace the action of the skin growing back together. After a moment she pointed back at the tup and shook her head, then mimed what she could only hope was that the cuts would open up and become infected. Or possibly that she would cut bigger circles from his skin. Either way, he didn't seem impressed or convinced. 

She finally leaned in and sniffed his shoulder, pulling back and waving the air in front of her nose. He looked a little insulted but then sniffed his own shoulder, shrugged as if it didn't matter, then leaned over to smell her hair. He clearly liked the smell because he inhaled again and Sansa stepped back to gesture at the tub. He growled something that sounded bemused and annoyed at the same time but he started stripping off his short and Sansa retreated back into the main bedchamber. She heard splashing sounds a few moments later and something that might have been a laugh. It was probably his first bath and she considered just leaving him to it but she doubted he knew what soap was so she went back in.

Quozo looked surprised to see her but was clearly impressed when she showed him the lather from the soap. After that, he caught on quickly enough and she pointed to the towels on the bench. The wardrobe still had some old clothes of her father's. It was just a simple linen shirt and pants and they had been laundered since Ned Stark but she lifted them to her nose and inhaled, as if she could still sense her father in them.

Of all the things she had ever done, she regretted most that she had begged him once to remain in Kings Landing and told him how much she had loved Joffery. At the time she had been so in love with the idea of being Queen, she hadn't stopped to consider how poisonous everyone was at the Red Keep. Cersei had seemed like the most beautiful woman in the entire world and Sansa had wanted to be just like her. She glanced at her own severe black gown. No matter how many times she tried to tell herself she had been just a child caught in a game that had ground older and wiser players than her to dust, sometimes she still felt like she had traded her family and their future for the promise of a a few pretty dresses.

Quozo was covered in lather when he went back to the bath chamber and this time he sounded impressed when he spoke to her. He was rubbing the soap back and forth across his hands and she idly wondered if the bar would last through his ablutions. She mimed him standing and washing his torso and legs but she wasn't prepared for him to do it immediately. She got a flash of tan buttocks before she turned around and she suppressed a smile. Though they were very different people, there was a quality about the dothraki and wildlings both that seemed to be so free about their bodies. Hers had been the cause of endless fear and shame since she had first flowered and realized she would be forced into Joffrey's bed. It hadn't been until after she had fled Kings Landing that she had come to appreciate how kind Tyrion had been and she had equally lived in terror that he would force himself on her. Peter Baelish had been muce more gentle and she hadn't feared him, but it hadn't been until her Aunt had attacked her, claiming she had been trying to steal Lord Baelish she had finally realized how deadly beauty could be. Ramsey had taught her to hate and fear herself more, until her body had been something she wished she could live without.

She could hear Quozo splashing and she seated herself on her bed with a piece of embroidery she had been working. It was a pale gray banner meant to hang on a staff and she had designed it with direwolf heads running into a vertical line. The top wolf was the largest, noble, with thick gray fur forming a ruff around his neck. The next wolf was a pale gray, silky and gentle. Below her was a wolf that was lighter gray than the top wolf but darker than the next, with some brown mixing in the fur across her eyes, It wasn't quite a mask like a raccoon, but it hinted at it and she had a whimsical set to her ears. The next wolf was a golden-brown with a self-satisfied, loyal look in it's eyes. The second to last wolf was black, fierce and wild looking. The last wolf was pure white with red eyes and she had debated when she had been designing the banner if she should put Ghost just below Gray Wind rather than after Shaggy Dog but she remembered hearing the story about how Jon had first thought there were were only five direwolves and it hadn't been until they were leaving that Theon had found Ghost who had been the runt at the time. In the end, Ghost wasn't centered with his siblings. He was to the right side of the banned and a golden kracken would go to the left to represent Theon. They may not have been the true born sons of Ned Stark but they had all been Sansa's brothers, even if Theon had lost his way for a time. But he had paid for his crimes a hundred times over at Ramsey's hands and had died protecting Bran. All the figures were only had a few dozen stitches each, barely a rough outline of each animal but it was enough for her to know how each would go and it would undoubtedly take her months to fill them in to her satisfaction.

She heard Quozo get out of the bath and she kept her head down while she listened to him pad around the smaller chamber. He was still only wearing the towel when he came into the bedchamber and she tried not to blush. It was wrapped around his waist but there was still a great deal of muscular leg on display and when she lifted her head, she got a good look at his torso. She had no idea what he asked her but he sounded genuinely curious and she set the embroidery aside.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what you mean."

He asked something again, then shook his head when he realized just saying the words weren't going to be enough. He finally lifted his arm and smelled it, then gestured at her and she almost laughed when she realized he was wanting her to confirm he had done a good enough job washing.

She stood, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, leaning in a little to sniff his shoulder and this time she nodded. "Much better." He repeated the words, even though he clearly had no idea what they meant and then said something else before leaning in to sniff her hair again.

Sansa felt her eyes widen, stepping back nearly into the bed and put her hands out to his chest. "No, I just wanted you to get clean." He had thought, she realized in shock, that she had accidentally implied she wanted him to smell like her. Which mean, she realized, he probably had misunderstood the reason why."

"No?" It was clearly a question and she wasn't surprised that he had picked up a few words of the common tongue. 

She would have retreated further but the bed was in the way and she repeated, "No," firmly. She was going to scream, she decided, even if everyone who came to her rescue would want to know why there was a mostly naked dothraki having just finished a bath in her room. She felt sick to her stomach, trying not to heave up the food she had eaten at the thought of him touching her but he merely lifted a strand of her hair and brushed it with his fingers before stepping away from her, looking disappointed.

The dothraki, she knew from study and from having them in Winterfell, did not respect women in general. Had he found her on a raid, he wouldn't have hesitated to rape her. But the dothraki did respect Daenerys and the Dragon Queen had been very clear on what would happen to any man who committed crimes while inside Winterfell.

She didn't understand what he said to her but she felt the panic start to ebb when he didn't make any other move to touch her. She did hate her body, she realized, and how much she was constantly afraid of the pain it could bring her. She hadn't just felt the pain herself, she had watched Theon and what he had done to try to please Ramsey after what Ramsey had done to them. She thought of how happy Brienne had looked, how she was pretty sure that Arya had been sleeping with Gendry, what Bet had said about the serving maids picking men and how Jon and Daenerys had looked at each other.

Why, she thought, should she constantly feel only fear of her body. She wasn't even a maiden, waiting for a husband to take his rights. Quozo, she could see, had sensed her hesitation because he was staring at her and she could sense the challenge in his gaze but he also didn't move towards her.

She set her hands to the ties of her gown and she could see his smirk. It wasn't an easy dress to get out of -- she'd made certain all her dresses took work -- but she finally gestured him over to help. He hesitated before he touched her, asking "yes?" and Sansa wondered if Daenerys had lectured the dothraki on the meaning on no and yes. She nodded but he din't move until she said, "yes" and his hands moved to join hers, trying to unlace the gown and she almost laughed despite the roiling of her stomach at whatever derisive comment he made about her dress. He finally got the knots worked loose enough she could step out of it and she nearly laughed again at his annoyed look at her understays and made a comment that was clearly not meant to be complementary.

"That's the point," she replied, even if he probably didn't understand her any more than she understood him.

It wasn't until they had her stripped to her skin that the welling panic threatened to overwhelm her when he grasped her shoulders and tried to turn her so her back was to him. She shoved him back, remembering how Ramsey had done the same and almost told him to leave but he stepped back again, waiting until her breathing returned to normal. He finally leaned in, whispering something in her ear that she was pretty sure was the dothraki equivalent to 'the things I put up with for you,' but his hands went to her hips and he helped her lay down on the bed. He kicked off the towel before joining her, propping himself up beside her and tracing patterns onto the skin of her neck and shoulder with his hand. He bent to take her right nipple in his mouth and sucked at her while his hand drifted down to slide a finger between her legs. 

Sansa tried to control her breathing, swallowing hard against the urge to vomit but despite the panic, what he was doing to her breasts felt nice. He lifted his hand and sucked on the finger that had been between her legs, letting his saliva coat the digit and she started to recoil as he moved it back to her core but this time the fingers slid into her easily. Ramsey had enjoyed biting her, hard enough to leave bruises and draw blood. He was trying, he had told her once, to let her know what it would feel like if she ever displeased him enough for him to feed to his hounds.

Quozo moved from her right breast to her left and she felt the pressure of his teeth but they were light nips, clearly not meant to hurt and Sansa arched her back. He lifted himself over her and positioned himself at her entrance. Ramsey's cock hadn't been long but it had been thick and he had always just forced himself into her, regardless if she was ready. Quozo's was longer and it didn't hurt as much when he pressed himself against her entrance but he just slid the tip in before withdrawing it, alternating between the head of his cock and his fingers that he had twice more added more saliva.

He wasn't trying to kiss her on the mouth, but he had found the sensitive spot where her shoulder joined her neck and he was alternating between teasing it with his tongue and whispering something, letting his lips trace over her skin. Each thrust took him a little further into her until he finally put himself all the way in. There wasn't any pain and Sansa almost cried with just the sheer relief that it didn't hurt.

Ramsey had liked to slap her across the face when he hadn't been biting her but Quozo put his hands in her hair, kneading at her scalp and Sansa tried to banish the mental image of her late husband from her mind. 

Quozo clearly liked the feel of her skin because he hands roamed around her chest and shoulder as he thrust into her and Sansa forced herself to put her hands up and touch him back. His hands went to her hips and tilted her up and she gasped as the sensations turned from not unpleasant to something she had no experience with but then his thrusts were harder and she felt a rush at her core as he collapsed against her with a groan in her neck. She didn't mind the weight of him but he moved off her, pulling her so that her back was against his chest. She didn't understand whatever phrase he growled into her ear but she turned her head enough to see he looked pleased with himself. One of his hand went back to her entrance and she could feel his seed but he swirled his finger through it then brought it outside of her to her bud and she felt sensations she never knew existed dance across her nerves. This, she thought, was what Margery had talked about when she said a woman could be pleasured.

It was amazing, but it was getting late and she wondered what Sam would say when she brought Quozo back and she wondered if they both smelled of the faint musk that was hanging in the air. It wasn't unpleasant but she felt her face flame. She pushed his hand away and started to turn and his dipped his head to kiss her shoulder. He was puzzled, she could tell but one of his hands went to the globes of her buttocks and started to kneed at the muscles she hadn't even realized were tight. She didn't want to take him back to Sam, she realized, but was worried that the young man would worry if she didn't return.

She heard sounds in the corridor and realized in horror that she hadn't bolted the door but whoever it was passed. It was two people, she realized, no doubt walking together and she felt a sudden sympathy for them and a hope they were going to get to enjoy each other was much as she was enjoying herself. It was also, she realized, a perfect excuse. She dressed quickly in one of the lighter wrap dresses she had abandoned in favor of the more restrictive gowns but she motioned Quozo to stay where he was and he didn't seem inclined to protest.

She passed several other people -- mostly couples -- in her trek to Bran's room and Sam looked up when she came in. "I was starting to worry," he confessed and she smiled.

"I'm sorry. Quozo hated the idea of bathing but once he actually got into the tub he discovered he liked it." Which was completely the truth, except it left out the time he'd spent in her bed. "Then, with the feast breaking up, there are a lot of people moving around tonight and I'm worried if I try to bring Quozo back tonight we'll run into someone either coming or going to someone else's bed."

Sam blushed but he shrugged. "These people have been through a lot. It's good for them to celebrate a bit."

"I agree," Sansa said, but then smiled. "But it helps my reputation as the Lady of Winterfell if they don't know that. Does Ser Jorah need any more blood tonight?"

"No. Ser Jaime was here a bit ago to give him some but it's the fever I fear more now. Why?"

"I think it would be safest if I keep Quozo in my room tonight so we don't risk someone seeing him on the way back here. I will bring him back in the morning. But if you need --"

Sam waved a hand. "No. Moving him in the morning would probably be safer. Tormund will be here in a few hours so I can go do my rounds of the other injured then spend the rest of the night with Gilly."

"Do you need me to sit with Ser Jorah while you check the other wounded?"

"I did it while Ser Jaime was giving blood. I shouldn't need anything til Tormund arrives. Sleep well, Lady Sansa."

She was halfway back to her chambers, feeling proud of herself when she realized the usually chatty Samwell Tarly had done everything but practically shove her out the door. For a moment she considered taking Quozo down afterall, just to prove she wasn't doing what he thought she might, but she felt the smile spread across her face. She could trust Sam Tarly and she wanted to see what being with a man was like when she was looking forward to the act rather than dreading it.

When she closed her bedchamber door she barred it. Quozo had fallen asleep but he sat up when he saw her and smiled at her and this time the tightening her belly wasn't fear. This dress was as easy to remove as the other one had been difficult and she smiled at the dothraki as she walked naked to the bed. Quozo pulled back the pelts and she crawled in next to him, feeling a frisson of pleasure as he kissed her shoulder. She and Tyrion had shared a room but never a bed while Ramsey had come to her bed but always left immediately afterward, to her profound relief. She shivered as Quozo took her hand and sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. He coated her fingers with saliva, then brought it to his groin. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and he grunted as she explored the hot skin.

It didn't take him long to get hard. For a terrified moment she wondered what she would do if she got pregnant but with Jon going to be Daenery's consort and Gendry now Lord of Storms End, she reasoned she could shrug off all complaints and have Daenerys name her child a Stark. If Alysane Mormont could tell everyone her children were fathered by a bear, Sansa thought, she could admit she had taken a dorthraki lover after the battle of Winterfell. This time, when he spent himself inside of her with another groan and replaced his cock with his fingers, she didn't push him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. . .so that happened. And I really didn't expect it to.
> 
> A few notes first. Notice that I never use Theon's sister's name. Her name in the books was Asha but they changed it to Yara in the show. Eventually I may have to pick one but I managed to duck the decision for this chapter.
> 
> If Daenerys didn't know Jon was Rhegar's legitimate son, she would have named him a Stark and a trueborn son. But she knows he's now a bastard, even in Sansa doesn't so she never even thinks of it.
> 
> I really meant it when I said I was trying to make Quozo a little more than a flat ex-machina of the correct blood type. Well, I should have remembered from some of my other fanfic that some of my background characters can sometimes get a little more time than I intend, and that certainly happened her.
> 
> To be honest, I was working up to having Sansa ask Tyrion to have sex with her so she can have some kind of experience that wasn't horrible. Remember in the hall when she keeps noticing him. That was where that was starting to go. But then I had this walking blood bank sitting in a chair in Bran's room when Sansa went to take food to Sam (I forgot he was going to be in there. I originally was having her take food to Sam but realized Qhozo would be in there too) and the opportunity seemed too good to pass up.
> 
> Don't worry. Sansa isn't going to learn dothraki and become a warrior or anything like that. She's going to stay in Winterfell and wear overly complicated dressed like armor and be the cold and proper Lady of Winterfell. And Quozo won't be remaining in Winterfell either. He'll go to Kings Landing the same time Ser Jorah does (eventually). But for a brief moment in time, two characters who have no business being together get to remember how good it can feel to be alive. For Sansa, Quozo is so far from anything connected with the Lannisters or the Boltons, she is able to drop her defenses. The hardest part was writing a dothraki that respected a woman's rights. Because, let's be honest, the dothraki are pretty backwards. And I didn't want to imply that the one dothraki who happened to match Jorah's blood type also happened to be enlightened and progressive. I am more likely picturing a scene before the dothraki get to Winterfell where Daenerys climbs on Drogon and lectures them all about how this is a fight against the dead and that there will be no raping or pillaging and that anyone caught breaking that rule will be executed by dragon fire. And because Soldiers are all a little alike in their predictability, one of them would have to ask something like 'but what if the woman wants it' and Daenerys teaching them the words 'yes' and 'no' and re-emphasizing dragon fire. So Quozo isn't enlightened. He just knows this woman is important and she can tell his Khaleesi and he really doesn't want to burn to death. And yes, in his eyes, Sansa started it, because why else would she care what he smells like. But when he realizes that's not what she had in mind, he remembers the lecture about no pillaging or raping and he really doesn't want to get killed by dragon fire.
> 
> I also wanted the sex to be good. . .but not absolutely earth-shattering. They don't love each other, and he's a typical dothraki male, which means that sex to him has always been about what he wants. If I had to give him a backstory, he was married at some point and his wife taught him a little about what pleased her and he went along with it because it just made life easier. Yes, in the modern world, this is barbaric, unacceptable treatment of women. But if I am going to remain true to the characters, then I can't always apply modern sensibilities to a non-modern issue and I did as much as I can to make the experience one Sansa was in control of, without completely ignoring an entire cultural norm for the dothraki.
> 
> For Sansa, the experience was less about sex and more about power, though sex was the medium she used. This is her first time where she gets a say in her partner (Tyrion never forced her to have sex with him, but he also didn't tell her she didn't have to marry him). She didn't chose him, but she is the one who gets to agree to it and I wanted it to be a positive, affirming experience for her.


	13. Chapter 13

"Wouldn't it be better," Sansa argued, to allow the men more time to rest and heal before moving South?"

Daenerys could see Tyrion and Varys agreed with Sansa but she shook her head. "Lady Sansa, you were the one who pointed out when you made provisions for winter, you hadn't counted on an Army of Unsullied and an Army of Dothraki making demands upon your larder. I came North at great cost to my Armies and myself. The longer I leave my enemies, the stronger they become."

"The Northern forces will honor their allegiance to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Jon said and Daenerys felt a wash of rage when he wouldn't look her in the face. He had made love to her again that morning but she had seen the look of self loathing in his eyes has he had rolled away from her. She was pretty sure that he blamed himself from being able to resist her and she hated the fact that he felt lust for her body and yet the fact she was his Aunt horrified him. The muscles in her belly trembled with the force of holding in her anger and she knew, from the expression on Varys and Sansa's faces, that she hadn't managed to keep all of it from showing.

"That's settled then," Tryion said briskly, as if he alone was unaware of the tension in the room but she knew he had to be faking his cheerfulness. "We ride South along the King's road. Jon and Ser Davos will move with with the Northern forces and Unsullied while the Dothraki move ahead with the Queen scouting with the Dragons. Being on horseback, the Dothraki can move fastest but we don't want them to outpace the Unsullied since the Queen's goal has always been to use the Unsullied as the primary attack force against Kings Landing.

She could hear Jorah's voice telling her, "The only men they'll kill are the ones you want dead," and his description of what he had seen at Kings Landing after the sack. At the time, she had fully agreed with him but now, years later, in this cold stone northern counsel room, she wasn't so sure she cared any more. If Cersei's forces had joined them in the Battle against the Night King, more of her Dothraki and Unsullied might still be alive. Jorah might still. . .she jerked her thought back to the present to see everyone staring at her. "I'm sorry," she said, "can you repeat that."

Sansa rolled her eyes but there was no real malice behind it. Sansa was wearing, Daenerys suddenly noticed, a dress in a dark gray under her wolfpelt cloak but the dress was softer than the severe black gowns that were practically armor she'd been choosing. There was something more relaxed about her as well and Daenerys remembered the look she'd seen in her mirror after she'd allowed Daario Neharis into her bed. She might have been trying to hide it, but Daenerys was certain that Sansa had recently taken a lover. Her eyes flicked to Tyrion but the two of them didn't seem to have any special awareness of each other. Jon, however, Daenerys noticed, was watching Sansa, his gaze intent upon her and Daenerys felt her stomach tremble and swallowed the sick feelings of anger and betrayal. She was his sister, she tried to tell herself, but she knew Sansa really wasn't and Jon knew it too.

He was in your bed last night, Daenerys tried to reason with herself. But he had come late and she thought of all the times since the battle for Winterfell had ended that she'd seen the two of them whispering together and of all the times they had been missing together, then one of them had turned up with no explanation.

They were helping each other try to run the North, she tried to justify. They were dealing with a thousand issues from collecting and burning the dead, to what to do with the Wildlings, to how to house and feed living and wounded. It was natural they needed to speak frequently. But the burning pain in her stomach only abated a little rather than totally fading.

Ayra Stark, she noticed, was staring at her strangely but she knew her smile back was more of a grimace.

"When this is over," Tormund Giantsbane said, and she realized he was the one whose comment she had missed, "We go back beyond the Wall. We won't be kneelers."

"You can go beyond the Wall now," she told him. "I would welcome you and the Wildlings in the Battle for Kings Landing, but I understand this is not your fight." The words cost her dearly, but she spoke them anyway because of all that owed her allegiance, the Wildlings were not among them.

"You could have said the same about the Night King," Tormund responded. "But you came here for us. Now that you've given us our home back, we owe you yours. But after that, we don't kneel."

"I won't try to be Queen of Eight Kingdoms," she said and watched him nod before turning and locking eyes with Sansa. "But I won't be Queen of Six Kingdoms." Sansa flushed slightly, then exhaled.

"As much as I wish the North to be a free and independent Kingdom, the girl who you spoke to that day hadn't met the Army of the Dead. We'd all be dead if not you and your armies and your dragons."

"Even if," Daenerys nodded towards Arya, "it was you sister that killed the Night King?"

Once corner of Arya mouth turned up but then she shrugged. "Someone had to distract him. You and the dragon's did a good job with that." It was probably the most words she'd heard the younger Stark girl speak at any one time. She had, Varys had said, rejected Gendry Baratheons offer of marriage because she didn't want to be Lady of Storms End. . .or Lady of anywhere. 

"I estimate it will take us a month to get to Kings Landing," Varys said. "It would be faster by ship but my little birds tell me the Iron Fleet has anticipated that and will be waiting for us at Dragonstone. They anticipate we will need to resupply there before going South."

"I can let you have some of the supplies we had stored," Sansa said. "The way the frosts are breaking means we think the Night Kings death is bringing an end to Winter. If we are right, we won't need them. If we are wrong, then you can send us grain in return when you take Kings Landing."

"Ser Jaime has asked to remain here, as a guest of the Lady of Winterfell," Tyrion said and Daenerys saw Brienne of Tarth blush. "He believes it would be best if he did not return to Kings Landing."

"He is probably right," she agreed, trying not to notice the look Jon and Sansa exchanged. "I understand he was wounded more severely that he thought. How is he?"

"He is improving," Ser Brienne spoke up, even thought she clearly was a little embarrassed. "But the journey would be too taxing for him. He would be forced to either travel behind or slow everyone down."

"I don't think speed will be a problem," Daeneyrs said, hearing the bitterness in her voice. "The foot soldiers will be covering about eleven leagues per day, assuming the best conditions.

"We found very few dead horses on the battlefield," Sansa said. "We believe the dead were too busy to notice them at the time so we estimate many of the horses fled after they helped the Dotrhaki break up the advance of the Dead. I will have some of the men remaining here try to round them up and send them South as soon as we can. We won't be able to get all the men mounted but if we can get more of the Unsullied mounted, you can have a more effective siege. I know, after what you have fought your way through, starving out Cersei may seem like a weak move. . .but I was in Kings Landing when the Reach sided with Renly. We nearly lost and we didn't have four Armies camped outside our walls not two dragons keeping ships from landing.

Once, Daenerys thought, she would have been happy to have Sansa Stark's approval. But seeing the looks she and Jon were exchanging, she wasn't sure any more. But Tyrion and Varys were watching her, along with Tormund so Daenerys nodded as graciously as she could and let the chamber as quickly as possible. Varys had stayed to talk to Tryion; Jon, Sansa and Arya were all clustered together near the map; Tormund was saying something to Brienne but it was Gray Worm and Missandei that hurt the most. The two of them were still near the empty hearth and she could see the way they were looking at each other, like no one else was in the room. 

She had been so glad for them once, she reflected. She knew the two of them hadn't gotten much time together to celebrate the fact they had both survived the Battle with the Dead and she knew she should have been grateful they had each other to love instead of her. But she'd heard them earlier as they'd been talking about how long they would need to wait before they could go to Naath together. She owed them that, she knew, and had no intention of trying to deny them the life they both deserved. She only wished they could have waited to tell her until after she had secured Kings Landing. Not that either of them had really told her; but they hadn't tried to hide it either. 

She had known, holding his body in her arms, that Ser Jorah's death would leave a huge hole in her life as well as her heart. But seeing everyone else so caught up in conversation with each other and no one there to ask her the simple question of how she was -- because Ser Jorah had never forgotten that she was a human being as well as a Queen -- she realized even she hadn't known how much she would miss him. She wiped her fingers through the hot tears that formed at the corners of her eyes but she didn't know if if hurt more that she cried them or that no one even followed her to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a huge debt to https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KAqa9wwODqaFkegqf8Si6fmuE55-M-GMIj0ZmcKUFxs/edit "Armed with the Pythagorean theorem, an acute bout [of] insomnia, a map in a language I can’t speak, and a staggering indifference to the fact that Martin (intentionally or otherwise) hasn’t produced a to-scale map of Westeros, I sat down and figured out how far apart stuff is." (quote taken from https://winteriscoming.net/2015/11/10/game-of-thrones-fan-tabulates-distances-between-places-in-westeros/)
> 
> Basically it's an approximate map of distances of Westeros and I will be using it to reference most of my distances (as well as google translator to swap between leagues and miles. . .1 league equals apx 3.4 miles). By the way, I'm assuming 33 days is Daenerys army moving 3.5 miles an hour for 10-12 hours a day. That's a lot. Some of the foot Soldiers will be slower than the mounted Soldiers but I 'm using an average. Especaially since I'll be glossing over part of that month as it is because I don't anticipate it will be an eventful journey. In fact, I pretty much expect everyone to stand back, let Daenerys through and even give over some grain to speed her through their territory.
> 
> A few notes. No, I don't intend for Daenerys to go crazy. But I think I want to get her nearly there. She won't burn Kings Landing. But I may have her come close. So I need to start isolating her, partly for real and partly in her own mind. Jon in this version doesn't plan to tell Arya and Sansa the truth, and that also bugs Daenerys because she can't figure out why he is shying so far away from being a Targaryan. The fact that he doesn't want anyone to know also bothers her. 
> 
> I will try to make clear: this is not 'woman in unhappy love affair goes nuts because she misses her friends.' This is a warrior who has been fighting for years. She's having some pretty bad PTSD at this point and I think I need to start bringing in regret for past decisions (burning the Tarlys, sacrificing the masters, burning the Khals) and that she knows she's made mistakes but that she figures if she can make everything turn out okay, it will all have been justified. All that's definitely stuff that needs to go into the next Daenerys chapter. But I had to have the cracks start showing somewhere, and I'm hoping I didn't overdo it here because I want it to start slowly and by the time anyone noticed how far she's gotten, she's already too paranoid to care. Because I have no intention of killing Missandei or Gray Worm, I have to isolate her other ways.
> 
> Jorah being alive isn't going to be what 'saves' her. But Jorah also once told her "no one can survive in this world without help" and while Daenerys is going to save herself before she finds out he is alive, he'll help keep her from going mad again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also posted chapter 13 today. . .so if you haven't been here in a few days, go read chapter 13 before you read this chapter.

When he had dove deep into the water near Old Valyria to rescue Tyrion after the battle with the stone men, his lungs had burned as he had forced himself that last distance to grab the dwarf by the sleeve and drag him upwards. Tyrion had been limp and Jorah had choked what felt like half the sea before he'd finally managed to get them back to the surface. It felt like he had the sea in his lungs still, 

His skin burned, froze and itched at the same time. He could feel someone prodding at his belly and some kind of salve being applied. It hurt so bad he was glad when the darkness enveloped him again into nothingness. He only hoped, he thought as he faded, that he dreamed of her there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's a short chapter. But I want to start establishing that Ser Jorah is still very ill with fever but starting to almost be aware of himself but not quite enough for anyone else to pick up on it.


	15. Chapter 15

"Highgarden?"

The look on Daenery's face was irritated but Jaime thought she seemed oddly distracted as Tyrion explained their encounter with Bronn to the Queen. Her chamber in Winterfell was cold, despite the fire and he crossed to the hearth and added more logs.

"It is double Riverrun." Tyrion explained.

"So what will he do if I just give him Riverrun like Cersei promised him. She'll most likely be dead then and this cutthroat sounds practical."

"It's bad practice," Tyrion explained, "to go back on a promise. Besides, Edemere Tully is still alive and I doubt the Stark's would be pleased to have us replace their Uncle. Whereas the Tyrell's had a slight case of genocide last year and the Reach is being managed by some distant cousin that Cersei put in to keep food production in order."

Daenerys toyed with her cup, taking a sip of her wine. Her hair was done simply for bed but she was still fully dressed in a sheepskin coat over a sleeveless tunic that was split in the middle to show off gray trousers. The only dragon ornament she wore was the three-headed silver chain that draped over her neck and shoulders.

"What does your Ser Bronn know about farming?"

"Well, he grew up. . ." Tyrion trailed off, then sighed. "I'm not sure. But we could make sure he had a competent Steward." Daenerys shook her head but she didn't seem as angry has Jaime thought she would be.

"Let me defeat Cersei before I begin realigning the Great Houses of Westeros. I will take it under advisement but I make no promise other than I will make sure Ser Bronn does not regret siding with you instead of your sister."

"Thank you, your Grace," Tyrion said, "I appreciate your time. Sleep well."

Daenerys muttered something at them that sounded something like a farewell but Jaime was too busy getting himself out of her door that he didn't pay much attention.

"I thought that went well," Tyrion said, his voice unexpectedly cheerful and Jaime shook his head.

"We were lucky she had something else she was worrying about. What is she worrying about?"

Tyion waved his hand as if it was a minor problem he could shoo away like a pesky bug. "Jon Snow has seemed distracted lately. I don't think they're fighting but I get the impression he's struggling with the idea of being Prince Consort. She just lost Ser Jorah and she's afraid of losing Jon too."

"And this doesn't worry you?"

"I believe he's just regretting having to leave Winterfell. Once they get to Kings Landing and we take the city, he'll get over his typical northern 'the North is the only place to be' brooding and realize the South is not the hell he thinks it is. He's never been there but his father died there and he's heard all Sansa's stories so he's naturally suspicious. They love each other. What could go wrong."

"Just because you love someone doesn't mean everything always works out," Jaime retorted. "I love Cersei. Look how that turned out." He wished he could tell his brother about Ser Jorah not really being dead but he'd stopped in to see if the Knight needed more blood before he had gone out with Tyrion and Sam had told Ser Jorah was no longed in danger of death from blood loss. His wounds had all healed enough they were no longer seeping but the infections were raging and there was a good chance he would die from septic fever.

"True. But you love Brienne now and doesn't that feel so much better." Tyrion gestured at Jaime's door with a flourish. "Mind if I come in for a drink?"

"Yes, I do mind," Jaime snapped but Tyrion had ducked under his arm and Jaime had tried to reach for the door handle with his right hand, which meant he had no way to grasp the latch and stop Tyrion from pulling it open.

Even before he saw Brienne, he knew she was there before the warmth from the room that spilled into the hallway. She was stretched out on top of the bed, her head resting on her left arm but she was fully dressed. She sat up, blinking in sleepy confusion and he shrugged helplessly at her as Tyrion headed for the table with the flagon of wine and poured himself a glass.

"Ser Brienne," he intoned, taking another sip and then pouring another cup and carrying it to her on the bed. "How are you this evening. Forgive my intrusion but we leave in the morning so I am going to monopolize my brother for a little longer."

Brienne swung her legs over the side of the bed so they rested on the floor and Jaime found himself momentarily distracted by them. He'd seen her naked in the baths at Harranhall and he had noticed even then than the armor she wore did a good job of concealing the delicate curves of her body. But he hadn't truly appreciated until just a few days before how erotic the play of all that smooth skin over hard muscle could be. 

He had always liked Cersei's form, even back when she'd been a reed-slender girl with just-budding breasts. She'd been strong and had lacked what he had considered to be a 'woman's softness.' Even the change in her body over three pregnancies had fascinated and delighted him. Cersei had been just as slender a few months after Joffrey's birth as she had been before her pregnancy. For Myrcella, it had taken her a little longer to get back into the same clothes but a year after Tommen, she could still wiggle into the dresses but the seams had strained and she had finally turned the old gowns into rags. The older dresses had featured more brown and gold with stags, back from the time she had seemed to think her marriage would be a happy one. The dresses she had replaced them with had featured shades of red and lions had started appearing among the antlers. But despite the few extra pounds, he's still thought she epitomized fitness in women. It wasn't until Brienne, however, that he had realized his sister had just been blessed with having a strong, fit body without having to work to maintain it. Brienne, he now knew, was what happened when a woman set about to make her body into a weapon with as much care and dedication as she put into practicing with a sword.

"I should leave you two then," Brienne said but Tyrion waved his hand as if to dismiss the idea.

"No, please stay. I had hoped to get to spend some time with you as well." He moved as if to top off her cut but she set her hand to cover it.

"This is plenty, thank you."

He had once thought she had eschewed wine because she disapproved of anything that was enjoyable or comfortable but he hadn't been witness then to her daily training. In addition to swordplay, Brienne strengthened her muscles with a series of exercises and ran several days a week for no other reason than it increased her endurance. She had told him that wine made her crave the rich foods she usually avoided at meals and that by limiting them, she was able to be stronger and faster. Her one weakness, he had noticed, was fruit with the barest drizzle of honey. It was still only winter but he was already plotting to request the first berries from Highgarden as soon as it was spring. If Bronn did become Lord of the Reach, he thought, smiling slightly, he might be able to prevail on their friendship. Bronn would drive a hard bargain, but despite his harsh words, Jaime had been pretty sure the former sellsword had been happy for him.

Tyrion was gazing about the room and his brother sighed with what Jaime was pretty sure was contentment rather than sorrow. "I'm going to miss Winterfell. I won't miss the bone-deep cold but it seems that when we fight for a place as hard as we fought for Winterfell, we can't help but be fond of it. It makes it feel like our home, even if it is not. Though I assume once Daenerys takes Kings Landing, you two will be following."

Brienne took a small sip of her wine. "We'll go with Lady Sansa when she bends the knee. After that, I have spoken to Lord Gendry of accompanying him to Storm's End. Everyone knew how devoted I was to Renly and if they see me backing his nephew, it may help him settle in as Lord of Storm's End. And Tarth, of course. I haven't seen my father in a great many years."

Jaime felt a swell of panic in his throat but he accepted the cup Tyrion handed him and swallowed a slightly larger mouthful than he had planned. All he had to do was remain silent, he thought, but he could see the way Brienne's eyes darted towards him, then away. "You should come with us to Tarth," he told Tyrion. "I have no doubt that we will have been on the island for less than a day before Lord Selwyn will be offering me a choice between a Septon and my remaining hand. I'm clumsy enough with just one hand. I would hate to lose the second."

Brienne blushed but he could see she was relieved he had just confirmed he would be going with her. He had however, he realized, insulted her without intending to and he even more horrified that she had overlooked it in seeming gratitude. His jaw clenched in anger but it was more at himself than at her. She needed to learn to stand up for herself and insist his complements be neither backhanded or thinly veiled insults. It was partly his fault he knew, remembering all the times he had directly insulted her and he hadn't been the only one doing it either. 

He walked over to sit on the bed next to her and set his right shoulder firmly against her left one and leaned towards her a bit more. It was not as obvious a gesture as putting his arm around her but he hoped she understood that it was his way of demonstrating the same gesture without trying to seem condescending. That in resting his weight against her for a few moments that he was showing he trusted her to support him without being so obvious as an embrace. He should tell her that, he decided, once Tyrion left. It may have been all well enough for him to have come up with an entire meaning to a gesture but it meant nothing if she didn't feel the same about it and he shouldn't expect her to read his mind. 

"I would ask Lady Sansa about a Septon here at Winterfell but I am pretty sure the man died in the crypts during the battle. Moreover, I rather fancy saying our vows in Tarth because Lord Selwyn should be there and it gives Brienne a chance to decide she'd rather not be harnessed to an aging cripple."

Tyrion's brows rose but it was the moisture shining in Brienne's eyes that made his own throat knot. He should have spoken sooner, he realized, rather than leaving her to wonder what her place was in his life but being a thoughtless oaf was a hard habit to break. As much as he hated comparing her to Cersei, the fact was he didn't know how to be a proper lover. He and Cersei had always known what they had meant to each other and he had to constantly remind himself that Brienne did not have Cersei's arrogance and assumption that any man who saw her wanted her nor did she have the same blood-bond that would never be broken, no matter how hard either of them tried. She needed to be told what she meant to him, and he was definitely not in practice.

Despite the tears in the corner of her eyes, Brienne's voice was crisp. "And who would I harness myself to? Tormund Giantsbane?"

"You could do worse." But he reached his left arm across his lap to capture her hand and squeeze it, meeting her eyes and feeling like he could drown in the depths of the blue seas. "Me, for instance. Granted, I'm hoping you pick me. But a Knight doesn't like to assume these things about his Lad. . .his fellow's Knight's favor."

Brienne returned the pressure of his fingers and she used her right hand to swipe away the moisture in her eyes. "Of course it's you, Idiot," The insult did nothing to soften the happiness in her tone and he leaned over to kiss the side of her head.

Tyrion was grinning, he realized, and his brother stood. "I now know why they say a third wheel on a cart is useless. And I fear I am rapidly becoming that wheel."

"No," Brienne said quickly, reaching out her hand towards Tyrion. "As you said, you leave in the morning. You should have time with your brother."

"I've spent most of the evening with him." Tyrion swallowed the rest of his wine and set the cup on the table. "Besides, I had best get some sleep. It's probably my last night in a comfortable bed for quite some time and I should take advantage of it."

Jaime rose and the two of them embraced each other, holding on for a long time. He felt a hollowness at his core, part of him glad he was staying at Winterfell so he could only hear of what happened to Cersei after it was too late to change her fate and the other part of him screaming to go along so he could try to persuade her not to face Daenerys. Her choices would determine the fate of millions but in that instant he could only focus on the thought that his child was among them.

He almost changed his mind, asking Tyrion to let him go with him but he swallowed hard. If Cersei had sent Bronn to kill him, the sight of him would possibly inspire his sister to disregard any sense of reason for anger.

"You will be up to see us off, won't you?"

"Of course," he answered as Tyrion stepped out of his embrace. The look his brother gave almost made him laugh as Tyrion flicked his eyes and gestured towards Brienne with his head. "I'll see you in the morning," he repeated firmly.

He was surprised when Tyrion stepped around him to take Brienne's hand. "Ser Brienne, I am glad my brother has you to take care of him."

Her smile was gentle and she surprised Jaime even more when she leaned over to kiss Tyrion's cheek. "We take care of each other. Be sure you are safe. He loves you very much and you know how difficult he can be when he's miserable."

Jaime couldn't keep the grin off his face at the look in Tyrion's eyes as he was clearly contemplating how much fun he and Brienne could have if they both chose to side against Jaime. At some point in his life, he should have experienced the wholly normal event of his two siblings siding against him but searching his memories, he was pretty sure he had always been the buffer between them. Having Brienne as a sister was going to be a new experience for Tyrion as well. He covered the near-tears by roughly hugging his younger brother and echoing Bronn's "Don't die," before he shut the door and turned back to Brienne.

She was looking at him fondly and her hands went to the laces of her shirt but he caught her in his arms and stretched up to kiss her. She brought her hands to his back, digging her fingers into his shoulder blades to pull him closer and they kissed for a long time before she finally drew away.

"You don't need to marry me," she said simply but he shook his head and rested his forehead against hers. The top of his head was level with her eyes but by standing on his toes he could bring himself nearly to her height.

"No, I don't need to," he agreed. "But what if I want to?"

She backed up towards the bed, pulling him with her and he laid next to her, their difference in height meaningless as they faced each other and he leaned in to kiss her gently. "Do you want to?" he asked and he was surprised as she shivered. "Brienne, if you don't want to --"

"Of course I want you," she whispered back. "You know I love you. I'm just afraid that --" she broke off at the soft tap on his door and they stood. If it was Tyrion, Jaime thought, he was going to have sharp words for his brother, even if he was leaving in the morning.

It was, however, he saw as Brienne pulled open the door, Sam Tarly.

"Sorry to disturb you," Tarly said. "But Ser Jorah's fever has gone up again. I've tried every herb and salve I can think of but they don't seem to be working and the only thing I can think of now is more blood. If his is poisoned, it may help him to have fresh blood added. If not. . .but I thought it was better to try something."

What he really wanted, was to help Brienne remove both her clothes and his own and let her lead him to their bed but he knew he would always feel bad if he turned Sam away with some foolish excuse and Ser Jorah died. From the look on Sam's face, he wasn't sure if Sam thought this would be enough but he had to try.

Brienne, he noticed, was adding more wood to the fire so as to keep the room warm when they were gone and he felt himself relax, even in the anticipation of the pain to come. He had noticed she had told him she loved him but not that she wanted to marry him and he knew all to well that the two were not always the same thing.

He had known for years that she had been in love with him but that she considered it a weak point in her character that she would love him despite her better judgement. Even when he -- partly for spite -- had tried to prove to her that he did still have honor in him, she had maintained a polite reserve in her manner. Part of it was that the two of them served warring houses but he also knew she fought her attraction to him with the same icy discipline that governed what she ate, drank and the time she spent training. There were times he worried she was treating herself to him in the same manner some women would treat themselves to a cake or tart and that -- once she felt sated, she would swear him off in the same manner that same imaginary lady would swear off sweets.

In banking the fire without even looking at him to confirm he was going to go with Sam, she was assuming he would do what was right, despite the pain and weakness to himself and he smiled again, happy she clearly thought the best of him without even hesitating to consider if he would refuse.

"Of course. We can stay down there the rest of the night if you need us. I hadn't thought of the fact that after tomorrow we won't have Jon or Tormund to help you."

"I'll need the help once they leave, but I do have Gilly and once Daenerys leaves we'll have an easier time of it. She'll still have allies here who have been wounded and Ravens still fly but it won't be quite as bad where we worry about tripping over her or your brother or Lord Varys in the corridors. Actually, the hardest part has been keeping Quozo out of sight since everyone seems to assume he died."

He barely noticed the details of the way between his room and Bran's. The route seemed so familiar to him after the last week and he only started paying attention when they got near Bran's door and he looked around to make sure no one was going to notice them going inside. 

Bran was seated near Ser Jorah's bed and he rolled his chair back towards the fire to give Jaime room to get onto the bed. Brienne pulled up his right sleeve and Jaime clenched his teeth around the strop of leather she offered him as Sam made his incision and slid the quill into his vein. Brienne helped support his arm and he spat out the strap as Sam adjusted the other end of the quill into Ser Jorah.

"Where is Quozo?" Brienne asked, glancing around the room.

"We were worried about him getting an infection himself so Lady Sansa took him to her room yesterday to have a bath. He wanted nothing to do with it when she first showed him the tub but she finally convinced him. I had him give some blood earlier and you could have knocked me over when a feather when he gestured to us when he was done that he wanted another bath. Lady Sansa decided that if he likes baths, might as well let him have a bath. Seems an odd thing for a dothraki to want but it's easy enough to do."

"One day," Jaime said, smiling at Brienne, "I want to go back to the baths at Harranhall."

She smiled back and leaned closer to him. "We have a similar baths in Tarth. Not so many tubs or so large as to be able to sit seven men at a time. . .but large enough for two."

"It would be awkward to have seven men in the baths with us," he agreed and smiled as she met his eyes and he could see she agreed with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent about an hour watching the scene with Tyrion, Jaime and Bronn so I could get the dialog and blocking written and then I was going to fill it in with Jaime's interpretation of the events so I could transition into them telling Daenerys about the deal they had struck.
> 
> But I started to write the transition from the tavern to where they told Daenerys and realized I could skip the entire scene since I wasn't planning on changing anything about it. Well, at least I am really familiar with the dialog in that particular section of 8x4. Oh well.
> 
> I didn't mean to get quite so sappy but once Brienne started talking about not staying in Kings Landing, it made sense for Jaime to want to let both Brienne and Tyrion know where he stood when it came to Brienne and that what they have is meant to be permanent. Which is going to make it harder on all of them when Jaime goes back to Cersei. I haven't determined the exact event that will trigger it but something will happen (Rhaegal wounded, perhaps. . .I don't plan to have him die) or something big that will make Tyrion and Varys fear for Daenerys sanity enough to send a Raven to Sansa and Jaime will go to Kings Landing with the intent to try to talk Cersei into abdicating and going with him to Pentos or Tyrosh or Lys or pretty much anywhere other than Westeros because it will save countless lives, particularly the life of their child.
> 
> Of course she is going to refuse but I believe I will have Jaime talk the Lannister Army into backing him rather than Cersei and he surrenders the city in spite of his sister. So in this case, his sacrifice is not in vain because it will help in preventing Daenerys burning Kings Landing. Barely. I think I will have Daenerys intend to do it. . .but she's not going to get the chance. I'm still working out the plot details. I'm thinking of Drogon getting another scorpion bolt and this time he falls into Blackwater Bay with her coming off about twenty feet above the water. It's not enough to kill her but she is unconscious for a time (that's her near-death experience). Don't worry, Drogon saves her from drowning. 
> 
> By the way, even though there are so many great Daenerys/Jorah fictions out there, if you want one about her nearly (but not quite) sacking Kings Landing, I highly recommend "I won't watch you burn" by 'RandmWriter' (https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954934). I wish I could recommend all the other stories I like but there just isn't enough space and I just read this one so it is still fresh and. . .well, read it and you'll see what I mean. I think I do a pretty good job at characterization but I also tend to do longer pieces (I have a few short one-shots but they aren't my best work) so I ramble a bit (anyone reading my notes ever can attest to this. . .in fact, I'm doing so right now). This one is only 2147 words but I'm pretty sure the writer packed a punch with every one of them.


	16. Chapter 16

The first carts loaded with provisions had left Winterfell the day before with a small group of mounted Dothraki to secure them along with ten northerners as guides and to ensure no one thought the Dothraki were invading force. It was a hundred miles to Castle Cerwin and the Cerwin's were going to accompany the main forces back to their home. Sansa watched Arya clutching Jon tightly before stepping away and Sansa moved in for her own hug. Her brother's arms were holding her tight and she leaned her forehead against his.

"Be careful," she told him, seeing Arya grin at her words. "The South is no place for us Northerners."

"He'll be a Southerner yet," Arya quipped. "Probably be King-Consort of all Westeros within a year."

"King Consort or not," Jon retorted, "I'll still be a Northerner. Besides, you'll be even further South than I will. Lady of Storms End, is it?"

Arya's mouth pursed and she signed, shaking her head. "I won't be Lady of Storms End."

Jon looked outraged and Sansa felt her eyebrows raising. "I can't believe Lord Gendry would --"

She trailed off when Arya raised a hand. "He asked. I told him no."

"Gendry's a good man," Jon argued. "He'll be a good Lord but better for him if he has a Lady by his side who could guide him. You --"

Sansa interrupted, "You could be a great help to him. But I understand if believe that isn't your path." Jon looked a little irritated but he nodded his agreement. Sansa felt her lips curve up, glancing at her sister. "But be sure to let me know if we should expect any bastard Baratheons in the Winterfell nursery. Jon, she noticed, was biting his lip so hard she was suprised he wasn't drawing blood but she smiled at him and he rolled his eyes. He was having a hard time, she sensed, realizing his sisters had grown up.

"I don't think you need to worry about it," Arya said, her own face smug. "At least not any more than I need to worry about that Dothraki that keeps going to your chambers for baths."

Jon turned to gape at her and she felt herself blushing but he exhaled, pulling her and Arya both close against him. "Take care of yourselves. And each other. And if you do happen to produce me any nieces or nephews, take care of them too."

"I've been drinking moon tea," Sansa told him and Arya nodded in agreement. "But if it happens, I'll let you know." He laughed and moved away to mount his horse. Ghost loped over and the horse shied and laid it's ears back. He had never been a tall man but he had an air of quiet authority to him. On horseback, cloaked in black wool and wolf pelts, he didn't look so much like Ned Stark in feature but he had the same dignity and strength to him that Sansa's throat knotted and she stepped forward to rest her hand against his knee.

"Be safe," she said, not sure if the words were a plea or a prayer and Jon smiled at her a moment before he jerked his head towards where Daenerys had mounted on Drogon and appeared to be readying to take off.

"I will. You be as well." His eyes flicked back to the castle. "And send me word. About. . . ." he trailed off and she nodded. Arya was pretending not to notice but Sansa knew her sister had seen the exchange and she braced herself for the inevitable questions. But after Arya had given Jon her own farewell, Sansa could see Ayra scanning the crowf of Soldiers as if looking for someone in particular.

There was a distracted air to her sister, Sansa realized and she suddenly reached out to pull the shorter woman into a hard hug. She'd been both releived and surprised when Arya hadn't mentioned going to Kings Landing with Jon but Sansa didn't know how she knew that Arya wouldn't be sitting out the final assault in Winterfell. "When do you leave?" 

Arya looked started but her lips curved up and Sansa grinned back at her. "Not sure. Sometime after this mob gets a little ways down the road."

"I understand why you don't want to travel with the army. . .but I'd rather you didn't go alone."

"I won't be alone." Arya's head jerked towards where Sandor Clegane was brushing his horse. The evil-tempered black stallion savaged most grooms that attempted to handle him. "He'll be pushing on ahead and I'll go with him."

"What does he say about that?"

Arya's lips turned up before she shrugged a shoulder. "He'll be annoyed at first. But he'll see it's more practical. Easier for two people to share camp chores and take watch."

Sansa started to protest but then sighed. There would be no changing her little sister's mind and she knew it would annoy the Hound but she had seen how comfortable Joffrey's former dog was with her little sister. She had told Sandor the night of the feast that she didn't regret remaining in Kings Landing because she would still be just a little bird. But part of her truly wished she had taken him up on his offer the night of the Battle of the Blackwater. If she and Arya had been reunited on the Kingsroad, she wondered what horrors they might both have been spared. But, she reflected grimly, there was also a chance they would have both been murdered by the Frey's at Edemere's wedding feast.

"Will you come say goodbye to Bran and I both before you go?" She could see from the look on Arya's face that this was the last thing her sister had intended but Arya surprised her by standing on her tiptoes and kissing Sansa's cheek.

"I expected you'd have hysterics." Sansa raised one eyebrow and Arya smirked. "The old Sansa would have."

"I haven't been her for a long time. Not since I escaped Kings Landing."

Arya sighed and Sansa felt the unshed tears in the corners of her eyes. It hadn't actually been leaving Kings Landing that had changed her. At the time, she had still been just a piece of goods to be traded about in the marriage bed for someone to have a claim on Winterfell. It had been when Lysa had tried to kill her and she had lied to the Lords of the Vale for Littlefinger that she had learned her own ability to manipulate people. She'd had flashes of it Kings Landing -- when she had learned she could endure beating and the vile words flung at her. She thought of the day when Joffrey had paraded her on the parapets to show her Ned Stark's head and she had nearly pushed him off herself. It had been the Hound who had sensed her intentions and stopped her before anyone else, even Joffrey, had noticed. She had known she was going to die and didn't care. The girl that was born from those flames wanted to live if only to dance and spit on the graves of her enemies but she had been willing to sacrifice herself if she needed to.

 

"No," Arya agreed. "You haven't been." A corner of her sister's mouth turned up. "Do you really bathe with a dothraki?"

"No." Sansa smiled slightly. "He uses my chamber to bathe but we aren't in the tub together." Arya's look was puzzled and she tried not to laugh at the fact her sister seemed disapointed she hadn't taken a lover. Sansa lifted her chin. "But we do share my bed afterwards."

That did please the younger girl, Sansa saw, and Arya nudged her with an elbow.

"Well?"

"I doubt you'll have him for a brother in law. Once he's fully healed, he'll go South with the other wounded." Not that the other wounded realized Quozo was even still alive since they'd smuggled him between Bran and Sansa's chambers and Arya would have assumed the secrecy had to do with her not wanting to admit she had taken a lover rather than the fact they were hiding the Dothraki and Ser Jorah both from Daenerys. She thought of telling Arya about it but then realized that with her sister leaving, there was really no point.

Ser Jorah's fever had been burning when she had gone in that morning and Sam was still doubtful the knight would recover and Sansa had to concede the man was wasting away to bone, despite their attempts to keep broth into him. But the very fact he was still alive defied any form of odds.

"I'm proud of you. Doing something just for yourself."

"I didn't mean to," Sansa confessed. "At first it was just to try to replace the nightmares with something a little less horrifying." She saw the way Arya was looking at her and she smiled. "But I did enjoy it more than I expected." Arya smiled at her in what Sansa could have sworn was approval and she basked in it for a few moment before asking, "And what about Gendry?"

Arya's mouth twitched and she sighed. "It. . .it wasn't quite what I expected. It wasn't bad," she quickly added. "Nothing hurt. . .not even the first time. But from what I had seen or heard I thought it would be. . .more . . .I don't know."

"If it isn't, he may not be doing it right," Sansa said. "Being with Ramsey was miserable and so the first time with. . .Coro. . ." she hastily edited Quozo's name because she couldn't imagine who Arya would tell, but it was easier to not have her mention or ask about him. "I was just relieved to have it not hurt. But after that, it was much better."

"I'll keep that in mind." Arya turned and watched the men watching out the gate. "It's strange. It seems such a short time ago we watched them march in the gates of Winterfell, this strange assoirtment of people who we distrusted and even hated. Now I'm almost sad to see them go."

"They saved the world," Sansa said. "You saved the world."

Arya grimaced. "And I'll never live it down." But one corner of her mouth turned up. "I should go finish packing."

"Be sure you tell Bran and I both goodbe."

From the look on Arya face, Sansa was pretty sure her sister had meant to just leave but then Arya nodded. "I will."

"Thank you." They stood together watching the Dothraki and Unsullied leaving the Winterfell.gates There were about half the troops than had arrived and the Unsullied were walking rather than marching but there was a determined air about both the mounted Dothraki and the former-slave foot-soldiers matched by the stubborn northern army that travelled with them.

"I'm not coming back," Arya said finally and Sansa sighed.

"Do you think you'll die there?"

"I don't know. But if I do live, I plan to go to Dorne, then see what's west of Westeros."

"And so for all your days, no matter how old you get, even double or triple your life now, you never plan to come back to Winterfell?" Sansa kept her voice calm, even though part of her longed to scream and throw her arms around her sister to beg her not to stay away forever. Arya, she realized, was feeling restless and the worst thing she could do was try to bind her closer.

Arya's face reflected a struggle but she finally sighed. "Well maybe then. But only if you promise not to pester me about being a proper Lady and getting married and having babies."

Sansa laughed but even she knew the sound was far from joyful. "I got too many of those lectures from Cersei to ever feel right giving them to another. I do want children someday so when I take a husband he will have to either take the name Stark or agree that our children will be Starks. If you chose to have children, I'd like it if you called them Starks as well . . .but depending on their father, I know you may pick another name."

"I'm drinking moon tea."

"That's not foolproof, you know."

Arya glared but Sansa was pretty sure it wasn't actually directed at her. "If I ever do have a child, it won't have a father. It will just be mine."

"You think that now. No, I'm not lecturing you. I'm not suggesting you go out and say your vows with Gendry or another Lord. But maybe you meet a man someday who loves you and doesn't mind yout extra faces or whatever else you do. He doesn't have to be a noble for me to accept him as long as he loves you."

"Men do mind." Arya face hardened. "They may say they don't. But they do. That I've killed more people. That I don't need him to protect me." There was a bitterness to her voice that made Sansa wonder if there had been someone her sister had wanted who had rejected her. "Oh, Gendry wanted me, but he wanted me to be someone I'm not. The 'Lady of Storms End' he called it. Like it was a fake name I would take on."

"Noble men may mind, true enough," Sansa said. "But there are plenty of men in the world who aren't noble and who may be willing to have a woman more deadly than they are if it keeps them alive."

"Men want pretty women, like you." The tone was perfectly matter-of-fact but Sansa grabbed her sister's hand.

"We're very different, true. I could put you in the right gown, with the right hairstyle and the right touches and even you would wonder if you were wearing your own face but you would be. I didn't because I didn't think that was what you wanted."

"It isn't," Arya said hastily.

"I know. But you can't complain about not being like me when you don't apply the same effort I do. I promise, hundrers of men would notice you if you let me emphasize your waif-like qualities."

Arya's eyes widened and her voice was hard. The hand squeezing Sansa's abruptly tightened enough Sansa's hand hurt. "Don't call me that."

"I only meant," Sansa yanked her hand away before Arya crushed one of her bones, "that I --"

"No, not that," Arya shook her head as if to clear it. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"A little," Sansa admitted, massaging her sore hand. "I didn't know you minded being short so much."

"Sorry," Arya repeated. "I don't mind being short at all. But there was a girl in Braavos called 'Waif' and she didn't like me much. She tried to kill me."

"And you killed her instead." It wasn't a question and Arya didn't answer in words but Sansa saw her smirk yet Arya's hand rubbed against her torso as if she wasn't aware she was doing it.

"All I meant," Sansa said, "was that you could have nearly any man, if only you did what I instructed you to. However, if you have to pretend to be someone else, I doubt you would want him. Yet that doesn't mean that someday you won't meet someone who likes that in you. I just think for you to think it will never happen could rob you of the chance of happiness. Maybe it will never happen and I don't mean to go around moping because of it. But if it does, be open to it. And be open to coming home sometimes, even if you just come for a visit."

This time it was Arya's arms that crushed her ribs but Sansa didn't pull away. She wished she could have understood so many years earlier that she and Arya were so different. She felt the guilt start to well up from knowing that if she had been less infatuated with Kings Landing and Joffrey, her father might have left earlier. It was a constant struggle to repress the 'what could have been' but it was a familiar one and she rested her cheek against the top of Arya head and focused on just that moment with her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it wasn't supposed to be a month between my last post and this one. I got a lot of writing done at the beginning of the month (all much later in the story. . .I'm back to my bad habit of writing near the end and then having the bridge from here-to-there) but then this just sort of sat and festered with about one paragraph written. About a week ago I got the Jon-Sansa-Arya goodbye done and almost posted then but I really felt like it needed more, so I wrote the Sansa-Arya conversation tonight. It is a touch on the sappy side but I felt it was very important for those two to have a bit of girl-talk bonding. I thought of going back to tone it down a bit but I think it touches on an important point that even if Arya chooses not to be a Lady, she can still be a woman. She seems to have rejected it not because it isn't who she is but because she associates it all with being a Lady. I also propped the door open for the possible introduction of a Arya/Sandor. I'm not certain yet but it may at least be hinted at later on (I can't very well write it - at least not in this story - when I am limited to viewpoints from Jon, Daenerys, Jorah, Jaime and Sansa).
> 
> But getting half the characters out of Winterfell at least starts things moving towards Kings Landing and I really needed that to advance the story.


	17. Chapter 17

To Daenery's eyes, Castle Cerwin appeared desserted when they arrived. The gates were open but crows circled the towers. It wasn't a particularly impressive keep - not even half the size of WInterfell and without some of more distinguishing architecture. The stones were dark under the snow and she tried to not shiver at yet another reminder of how cold and sullen the North and it's people really were.

A squad of soldiers entered the castle gates, moving with the easy familiarity of men in their own home. They conducted what seemed to Daenerys like a surprisingly cursoury search, as if they didn't care much about threats, before one of them came back out and pronounced the castle safe. She turned to Jon, confused as to why he didn't object but Jon was already dismounting.

"They couldn't have looked everywhere. There might still be people hiding in there."

Jon's brow furrowed and he moved the reins back and forth from his right hand to his left and back to his right again.

"Not likely. We don't have to worry about wights, most everyone sworn to the Cerwin's came with them to Winterfell and the Wildlings are all here with us."

"And if Cersei sent assassins?"

He looked weary but sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. "I'll send men to search the castle before you go in."

"Like they just searched?" She turned to gesture to Gray Worm but her Unsullied Commander was turned away, his full attention on Missande and she felt hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes for just a moment. She forced them and the lump in her throat away. She was happy for them, she reminded herself. The two had been through hell and had both nearly lost their lives in Winterfell. It was also possible, she reminded herself, that what appeared to be a personal moment was in fact a conversation about their duties.

"I'll search it myself," Jon sighed, handing her his horse's reins. He gestured for a group of Wildlings and moved away. She could tell from the set of his shoulders how tired he was and she nearly called him back but she remembered seeing the spear in Hizdar's chest in a place where she had believed she was safe. Jorah, she thought dully, once would have taken care of all of it for her. Tyrion and Varys were already deep in discussion about something political and Gray Worm had moved along to directing the Unsullied to wherever they were billeting for the night. Missandei was translating between Khal Haedo and one of the Northern Lords. She needed, she realized, to appoint a bodyguard. Jorah had always filled the roll and -- after he was exiled -- Daario had taken his place. As much as she hesitated to trust anyone else or even hint that she was replacing Jorah, she needed someone who didn't care about politics or the rest of their men but whose only concern was her safety.

There were no Mormonts left, but she wondered if Jon would object if she asked to speak to men from Bear Island.

 

Later that evening after a meal of bread, ale and some sort of dried meat, Jon ushered her up to a room in the top of the keep which appeared to have been hastily cleaned for her. She glanced around and Jon must have misunderstood her gaze because he grimaced.

"I know it's not the best Cerwin has to offer. But I remember my father always complaining when he visited that the best rooms here were ice cold because there was no way a single fire could heat a room that size. And they're on the ground floor with doors that open into a garden. Lovely in the summer but just snow right now. Since you're worried about Cersei's men, I thought this would be better."

"No," she replied, trying to sound natural. "This is fine." There was a single window and she went to it. "I was just wondering where Drogon and Rhaegal were. I sent them to hunt but they haven't come back yet." The window didn't open but she pressed her palm against the glass, as if she could sense her dragons in the outside air. They didn't like the cold and she was grateful they were moving south, out of the worst of the Northern frosts. The air lacked the same bitterness it had before the Night King had been vanquished but it was still felt like it froze her blood."

"I need to go see how my men and the Wildlings are getting settled." He turned to leave but stopped when she touched his arm.

"Are you coming back?"

The look he gave her showed every emotion across his face. There was lust and regret mixed with shame and longing. Jon would be terrible, she decided, at the Mereneese table games that required hiding plays to the other opponents. One look at him and his adversaries would know if his pieces were good or bad, regardless of what was showing. He cared for her, deeply even. But he didn't love her.

She bit her tongue, hard enough to draw blood as the edges of her teeth sank into her flesh and she held his gaze until he looked away. "I don't know. It might be late and I don't want to disturb you."

"Come anyway." She softened the command in her tone, forcing her lips into a smile. "I sleep better when you're here."

He smiled at her then shut the door between them. He wouldn't, she knew, be back that night, even if he wouldn't admit it to even himself yet. It was still early but she curled up on the bed, pulling the pelts over her, hoping she was wrong but knowing she wasn't.

 

Jon tapped on her door at dawn and escorted her down to breakfast, murmuring an excuse about sitting around a fire with Tormund and eventually falling asleep after sharing his vile fermented milk. She had smiled and made some jest about his head but but inwardly she knew he was lying. Not about staying with Tormund -- she had no doubt that was the truth. But the fact was he was more comfortable around the Wildlings than he was around her.

Rhaegal and Drogon were circling the keep and they landed in a field near the castle. She walked out with them, Tyrion and Varys following her. She had ridden a horse all the day before but the road from Winterfell to Cerwin had been mostly straight and flat with little fear or ambush. On Drogon, she could outpace even the Dothraki to verify they weren't riding into a trap.

"Will Jon be riding with you?" Vary's asked and she heard the deeper meaning behind his question so she smiled, as if she wasn't watching her lover pull away from her. She wondered if Daario had felt the same way when she had told him she was leaving him in Mereen but she brushed aside the thought. Daario had been in love with her body and her position rather than in her mind. She swallowed hard, suddenly realizing what it must have felt for Jorah to have stood by her, knowing she would never feel the same way about him that he felt for her.

"No, he's leading the Northern Army and the Wildlings." Varys stared hard at her but she remembered the way Jorah had always stood so straight and lifted her chin, letting her lips curve up at the same time. Her Bear had always presented a stoic front, as if he felt nothing behind the armor she had given him. Her heart might be breaking, but there was no reason Varys needed to know about it.

 

She spent most of the next twelve hours on Drogon's back, landing only a few times to relieve herself and take a few mouthfuls of bread and water. She would scout ahead, then swing back, her largest son flying progressively larger rings around the marching armies so that while they were in the air most of the day, they didn't travel as far as she would have liked. It would take most of the month if not more to make it to Kings Landing, she realized, which was more than enough time for Cersei to prepare for her arrival. The North was beautiful, she decided after her day examining it. But it did not welcome her.

She and Drogon had done a larger circle than normal to verify there were no Soldiers hiding within a days march from their position. The camp would still need guards for the night but they didn't need to fear an ambush. But as a result of that extra distance, by the time she got back, Tyrion had a command tent set up and was already conducting a meeting around a map. He gestured to her as soon as he saw her, tapping at the map.

"I thought it best to determine our daily goals for the next week. We may well have to adjust but it will keep us on track better than just day-to-day. And if Soldiers know a short march one day may well be followed up by a shorter one the next day -- and vice versa -- it may help motivate them. Did you see anything scouting we need to take into account?"

"Not for tomorrow. At least not at first," she said. Her stomach rumbled and the socks inside her shoes felt clammy.

She stared absently at the map, picking a bit where the cloth at the hem of her sleeve had started to fray. She listened to Gray Worm, one of the Dothraki, Jon, Tormund and a northern lord whose name she didn't remember debated days and distances. Varys, she was pleased to note, made frequent references to Cersei's forces and what potential threats each area might include. A few times Tyrion looked to her for an opinion but she nodded, knowing the Commanders of each Army had a better idea of their troop capabilities and to her purpose -- flying above it -- each individual day mattered little to her. They had lost any potential element of surprise with that large of force so she wasn't as concerned with speed as Tyrion seemed to be. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of discussion, everyone seemed satisfied and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now," Varys said, rolling his maps, "that we have our travel marks set for the next week, I'd like to discuss a somewhere more delicate topic."

Daenerys was tired and anxious for a meal and a bed but she paused because he was looking at her. "Go ahead."

"It's about your marriage."

She forced herself not to turn her head to look at Jon but the churning rage in the pit of her stomach sloshed and burned bitter bile up her throat. "I wasn't aware I had planned one."

"Exactly the problem." Varys looked like his stomach hurt him as well. "You see, your Grace, I am continuing my whispers with some of my little birds in Kings Landing. One of the problems is -- even though you and I know you are nothing like Cersei -- the common people don't know it. She was the first Queen of Westeros and people fear that they'll just be trading her for another Queen who cares nothing for them. . .this one with dragons. If you could show them that you are different. Marry Jon Snow and make him King beside you. People would be more comforable with a King and Queen than they would be with a Queen alone."

"Jon will be Warden of the North."

"Sansa can be Wardeness of the North. Wasting the man who saved us from the Dead on only the North is such a waste. True, plenty of people don't believe in the White Walkers or Wights but there were enough people at Dragonstone that some of the stories have started to spread. And the only thing people like more than a good ghost story is one with a stirring romance. For the People of Kings Landing to see their King and Queen riding into the city together. . .the son of Ned Stark come back to help claim the crown that murdered his father."

"The bastard son of Ned Stark," Jon inturruped but Varys waved his objection aside.

"The Queen legitimized Gendry Baratheon in Winterfell. I confess, I was suprised she didn't do the same for you at the same time."

Because, Daenerys realied, she'd known that he wasn't illegitimate but rather a trueborn Targaryan.

"Stannis offered me the same thing, if I would bring the Wildlings to fight for him. I turned him down because I was still Lord Commander of the Nights Watch."

She didn't know if she was grateful Jon was trying to step away from Varys' hints he's make a better King than she would a Queen or more upset that he was rejecting the thought of marriage with her. She supposed, in their own way, they both stung.

The burning up her throat was getting so bad that she knew -- even if she was able to get away from Varys she wouldn't be able to eat because for some reason food always seemed to make it worse after it had started. Her stomach growled in protest but if she did, she would be in too much pain to sleep and she was more tired than hungry.

Frustration made her lash out harder than she intended and she was aware her voice landed like a whip. "So what you are saying, Lord Varys, is that I am not suited to rule because I don't have a cock and balls?" She let her gaze drift to his groin and linger there long to be insulting. "Well, you may know something of that after all. But I am Queen Daenerys Stormborn, last of the Targaryans." She didn't look at Jon. "The Iron Throne is mine by birthright and I do not need a King to make the people of Kings Landing respect me. Did they respect Tommen Baratheon who was by all accounts a sweet boy but who killed himself when his wife died? Did they respect Joffrey Baratheon, a monster who took delight in torture? Did they respect Robert who bumbled and whored his way through his reign until Westeros is so deep in debt to the Iron Bank that even I am not sure how we can ever repay the Braavosi?"

"The loans were to King Robert and Queen Cersei. You are a new ruler. Make sure the Iron Bank knows you won't accept their debts. They backed the losing side. A cost of doing business."

"Nevertheless, whatever Jon and I decide to do, we will do in our own time."

"Your Grace," Tyrion was a little more diplomatic in his tone but Daenerys was aware that she was so angry already she really didn't care that he was trying harder than Varys. "We do need an heir appointed. Hopefully you are already with child. but if you are not, you must name an heir. If the dogs scrambled for the scaps when Robert died, just imagine what they will do if anything happens to you. Your child with Jon would be the perfect choice but name another if you must."

This time she and Jon did exchange glances but he looked away first and she waved her hand.

"We will discuss this later." She snapped. She had lost count of how many times she had told them she could not have children yet they continued to act like she must have be mistaken merely because they wanted her to be. Her throat hurt so bad she felt like she would vomit and wondered if she did, would flames come out like what happened to her dragons. What if Dragons, she thought, were once people who had gotten so twisted and angry they became too broken eventually to hide it any more and one day it stuck."

It was not a pleasant thought, she decided, as she made her way to her tent. She crawled into her bed without bothering to change anything else other than kicking off her shoes. The burning in her throat had gotten so bad she knew it would be hard to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ulcers, anyone? At any rate, a minor ulcer due to stress but combined with acid reflux...again, from stress. But no one knew about ulcers and acid reflux so Dany thinks they are physical manifestation of her rage. She's been under so much stress for so many years, she is literally starting to turn her fear FOR people into her fear OF people. She doesn't understand the medical part, or adrenaline or anything happening to her so she's starting to think it is all in her head (part of it is. . .but not the way she thinks it is). She has these dragons, which make her feel invincible but now she knows they can be killed and now she is terrified to use them because she is scared for what could happen to them too. I am hoping I am doing enough to show her fear and paranoia but I am figured explaining some of the physiology behind it might help clarify it in later chapters. I wish I could figure out a way to describe the events in a scene itself, but with the primitive medicine at the time, I couldn't figure out a way to work it in so I am hoping this helps. It's cheating to not put it in the story itself, and if I am able to figure out how, I will, but for now, notes may have to do.


	18. Chapter 18

Two days after Arya left Winterfell with the Hound -- four full days since Jon and Daenerys had gone -- when Sansa walked into Bran's room and found her brother, Sam and Qhozo all asleep in chairs around Ser Jorah's bed. Ser Jorah's forehead was beaded with sweat and she picked up a cloth to wipe it away but the skin against her fingers was cool and for a moment she wondered if he had died but his chest rose and fell with a regular rhythm rather than the ragged gasps she'd witnessed in the last few days.

She seated herself on the bed and lifted Ser Jorah's shoulders. The Knight had lost so much weight, his skin sagged around his bones but she settled him against her and spooned water into him. The tiny dribbles were hardly enough to sustain him but for the first time, Ser Jorah sucked at the water rather than just letting it roll down his tongue. He still wasn't awake but his body was responding and Sansa filled the spoon at least nine times before he choked. That woke Sam, who sat upright and blinked.

"I think his fever may have broken," Sansa said and Sam moved to check, his hands steady and confident at odds to his usual nervous demeanor.

"You're right, Milady." he said, helping her settle Ser Jorah back onto the bed. "And if he was drinking better, we may have a chance. Maybe get some broth into him." He seemed hopeful for a moment but then his face fell as if he was considering how unlikely it was to bring a man so close to death back to life. Sansa considered it as well but it had been nearly ten days since the Battle of Winterfell and by all rights the man shouldn't have even survived the first night. She remembered the way Lyanna Mormont had first reacted to Sansa praising the young girl's appearance and how her pride came from her family's ability to fight. Clearly that pride hadn't been misplaced.

Sansa left Sam as he was waking Qhozo to help try to get more water into Ser Jorah and walked to the kitchens to ask for broth. The cook had a stew cooking for that evening and Sansa accepted a bowl of that rather than waiting for the broth. The kitchen staff had gotten used to her coming in at odd hours asking for foods to be sent around to either her room or Bran's but she smiled at Bet as she walked out with the bowl in her hand. It was too thick and hot but she didn't want to wait for anything else and Sam could water it himself. She carried the bowl into Bran's room. Her brother had woken but she was pretty sure he had gone away inside his own head. She explained her idea about the broth to Sam and left him mixing water to turn the stew into broth.

Her next stop was where Gilly had a dozen children occupied sewing a mix of torn pelts and scraps of cloth into clothes. The children were mostly girls but there were three or four boys as well. The orphans of Winterfell would grow up under the Stark protection and Sansa was glad Gilly had taken them to heart. She needed to get the woman more help, Sansa decided. Most of the wildlings had marched with Jon but there were enough convalescing that would be able to assist and Gilly smiled at her, one hand going to her swelling belly. She winced, rubbing her back.

"I forgot about this part," she said, her good natured face creasing into a smile. "That and my feet being always swollen now. I suppose most women do or else we'd never have children after the first one."

"What does Little Sam think about having a brother or a sister?"

"He's not happy with my weaning him so he'll probably be jealous that another baby gets to nurse. But he's such a good boy. He's usually like Sam, content all the time." Something darkened in her eyes and she turned to look to where one of the older girls in the group was allowing Little Sam to help her set cloth into the rag-coat she was sewing. The child was probably more of a hindrance than assistance but Sansa noticed the girl was praising the small boy for helping, even as she subtly corrected his work before stitching.

"He's never known any father but Sam," Gilly said, her voice gone serious as her expression. "I don't know what I'll say to him about his father when it's time."

Jon had told her enough of the story to know Craster had kept his daughters as wives and given his son's to the Night King in trade for being left alone.

"You don't necessarily have to tell it all at once," Sansa said, reaching out to touch Gilly on the shoulder. "Maybe have Sam start talking to Little Sam about how he loves him like a father and how Little Sam will always be his son. He's too young to understand what it means or to even understand how babies are made. That way when he's old enough to know what it all means, it won't be a surprise. And even when he first asks about his real father just say your first husband was so much older that he died right around the time Little Sam was born and Sam saved both your lives from wild beasts. Save the rest of it for when he is much older. If he even bothers to ask."

Gilly looked thoughtful, her hand moving over her stomach again. "I. . .thank you." She turned her head to look at Sansa, her eyes narrowed slightly. "You sound like you've given it some thought."

Sansa sighed, nodding. "I didn't bleed for two moons after Ramsey died." She paused, reflecting how innocent that sounded and her voice grew firmer. "After I fed him to his dogs myself." Gilly, she noted, was nodding in approval rather than any reaction of horror. "I was so terrified that I was going to have his baby. The idea of having any part of that monster left made me want to kill it before it was born or if it was too strong to be rid of, to smash it when it was still tiny and weak, before it could turn into a monster like it's father." She swallowed the feelings of panic. "But I also thought that it was my parents first grandchild. Part of it would have been my father and mother, my brothers and sister." She felt the tears welling. "I made up stories to tell it. But then I started bleeding again and Brienne told me that it was common for women to stop bleeding at times of extreme difficulty." She forced herself to smile. "So yes, I did think about it." Gilly's hand gripped hers for a moment and the wildling woman bit her lip.

"Thank you, Milady. I'll talk to Sam tonight about what you said and will probably do as you advise." She hesitated, then rushed on. "I'm glad you didn't have that man's child. But it you had, it would have been good because I believe it woud have been like you. Good and strong and wise." She looked around at all the children. "And if you ever doubt that, think of this moment and the people who would have left these little ones to starve because they were in the way."

"You're the one taking care of them," Sansa protested but Gilly overroad her.

"I help mind them. But what if the cook told me there was no food allowed for them? Or the steward denied me these rags because they could be used for other things?"

She had a point, Sansa realized. It was the Stark way to take care of their own but she only had to look at the Boltons or the Lannisters or even the story of Gilly's father to know that not everyone did the same. Most people, she decided, would believe it was their duty to take care of children orphaned in their service but there were enough that wouldn't that she should allow herself to be proud of what she had done.

She gripped Gilly's hand back, then stood, smiling at the woman. "Thank you." Gilly nodded back at her before a child claimed her attention, asking for help on the sleeve he was trying to set and Sansa felt herself turning towards the Godswood. She was halfway there before she turned back, her throat swelling with panic as she approached the door that led to the crypts.

She hadn't been in them since she and Tyrion had escaped. She'd heard friends being slaughtered in them and had watched her own family rise to the Night King's call.

The heavy wooden door opened easily, swinging silently on well oiled hinges. Her feet knew the feel of the stone steps and she grabbed the torch from the wall next to door and lit it off one of the lanterns in the hall.

She had said her final goodbyes to Theon in the Godswood but she found his coffin easily enough and ran her fingers over the carved granite lid. His name would be carved into it eventually and a statue erected of him. Robb's coffin held only his head, she knew. His body, with Gray Wolf's head still stitched onto it, had been sent to Kings Landing, though she had been long gone before it had arrived. 

Of Lady Caitlyn, no body had ever been found, though Ramsey had sometimes boasted that his father had thrown it into the same river that Robb had traded his word to marry a Frey for a crossing and had died after he broke his word and married someone else. Sansa had never met her late sister-in-law but she felt tears leaking from her eyes at the thought that Robb might still be alive if he hadn't fallen in love. 

Love was dangerous, she decided. She hadn't particularly liked Ramsey's mistress, Miranda, but she had been grateful for every bit of Ramsey's attention the girl had draw away from Sansa. She should have been pleased to find Sansa fleeing with Theon but she'd wanted to please Ramsey so badly she'd tried to stop them.

She'd felt such terror in this room the last time she'd been here she'd thought it would overwhelm her but she touched the stone lids, feeling the cold rock that varied in texture depending on the carving. Rickon her uncle's was smooth as glass while Rickon her brother's was rougher from the natural grain of the stone, the haste of his interment and the fact it hadn't had decades of time to wear against it.

She was getting maudlin, she decided, and turned back to the stairs. But despite the sadness, she was glad she had come. She wouldn't be afraid in her own home anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there wasn't a lot that really happened in this chapter but most of the action is going to be on the way to and in Kings Landing. Winterfell for now is out of the action and getting well deserved break to put itself back together and take a deep breath. But while I can't have Ser Jorah awake yet, I think there's only so long one man can be at the point of death without either dying or getting better so I think it's time for him to start getting better, albeit not yet conscious. And Sansa as a character isn't finished yet. She's not the focus for now but she still has a very important roll to play later on (no. . .she doesn't kill Cersei) that reshapes a great deal of Westerosi politics.
> 
> Sorry this is going so slowly. As usual, I know where I want to go, but am still not sure how to get there.


	19. Chapter 19

Daenerys slid off Drogon and nearly slipped on icy grass that had been stomped into mud by thousands of hooves and feet. Missandei caught her before she could fall and Daenerys forced a smile onto her face. "Thank you." she said, trying not to cling as Missandei stepped away from her. The translator gave her a firm nod and clasped Daenery's hand for just a moment, her grip tight, but then she stepped away, bending slightly at the waist in deference.

Drogon took off, joining Rhaegal in the air and the two dragons raced each other as they headed out to hunt and Daenerys smiled, her heart lightening at the obvious joy of her children and even Missandei smiled with her.

"They seem happy."

"They're glad to be moving further south. They like the warmer air." Snow still fell but in the last few days it had melted as it hit the ground or only accumulated a dusting. It drifted in the evening air on a sharp breeze that carried the scents of wood smoke and stew. Her smile fell away as she thought of how -- contrary to her dragons -- Jon seemed more withdrawn each passing day. He had completely abandoned even the pretense of coming to her tent each night, claiming the time was needed with his men. The Wildlings and the Northerners had long been enemies and he had spoken a few times about needing to maintain the peace between them but to Daenerys it seemed like the two groups were far more distrustful of the Unsullied and Dothraki than they were of each other.

Missandei was staring at her and Daenerys forced her features into a semblance of a smile as the two women walked to where Gray Worm was watching four Unsullied finishing tightening the guide ropes to her tent. He was holding two bowls of stew and offered them both her and Missandei.

"Is this supposed to be your dinner," she asked and he shrugged.

"I will get more. Please," he said as she started to push it back to him, "Eat. She worries for you." He jerked his head at Missandei. "I worry about you too." One of his hands moved to Daenerys' face and his finger traced the hollow of her cheek. "Don't think we don't see you skip more meals than you take."

Missandei nodded, her eyes wide in concern and Daenerys exhaled, taking the bowl and sipping from the rim rather than bothering with the spoon. It was a bean soup, rich with vegetables and meat. The flavor was good but Daenerys could already feel the familiar burning in her stomach and throat from food. It had been getting worse, especially when she ate, but she forced herself to continue sipping at it and she saw both Gray Worm and Missandei appear relieved.

The Unsullied moved her bedding from the wagon that packed her tent and carried it inside. The main part of the tent was used for council meetings but a curtain divided it in half and she followed Blue Beetle into her chamber. He laid out the furs that cushioned her blankets from the hardness of the ground and she helped him spread the quilts over that. Many of the Northerners just used pelts and when in Winterfell she'd done as they had, trying to prove she was able to live with them but she wasn't sure anyone had even paid attention.

Gray Worm and Missandei brought in her brazier, carrying it between them. They'd gotten hot coals from one of the other fires and she helped them put wood someone had brought in earlier on it. She breathed a sigh of relief as the flames caught and licked at the sticks and she held her hands close to it. She loved riding Drogon but she was so chilled when she landed her fingers were stiff. The wooden bowl of soup had helped but she flexed her hands as close to the flames as she could without actually touching the coals. Some days she considered abandoned the pretense that she couldn't touch the flames directly but giving the Northerners yet another reason to fear and possibly distrust her was what she was trying not to do.

Missandei and Gray Worm with looking concerned again and she felt her lips curve up. It felt good to have them both around her and she gestured at the chairs that had also been brought in before she arrived. Gray Worm hesitated but then he went to door of the tent and she didn't hear what he said to someone but when he came back, he seated himself near Missandei and smiled at her.

"I asked them to bring more stew. You both should eat more." Missandei started to protest but he glared at her. "You watch her not eat and then you don't either."

Daenerys glared at her translator, feeling a wash of guilt that she hadn't noticed. Now that she looked, she could see the skin drawn tighter over the other woman's jaw. "We'll all eat together," Daenerys announced. It was one of the Dothraki who brought them the bowls of stew, steaming in the twilight with chunks of pan bread floating on the top. This stew was different from the first bowl, having more broth and vegetables, potatoes instead of beans and she was pretty sure it was mutton rather than beef. It needed more salt but it was hot and she drank ir quickly, sopping up the last of the broth with the remains of the bread,

"I always used to wonder as a child what snow felt like," Missandei said, setting aside her own bowl. "I thought the idea of ice falling from the sky seemed like magic. But I don't like it."

Gray Worm nodded in agreement. "I never heard of it until after Daenerys Stormborn come to Astapor. I think at first it is just a story, like the stories about monsters people like to tell. I don't know if it is a thing that really happens until much later. I used to want to leave the desert. Now I miss it." They all nodded in agreement and after a moment, Daenerys turned to Missandei.

"What is Naath like?" She had been avoiding them both, she realized, because if she didn't see them, they couldn't tell her they wanted to go there together when the war was over. But in doing so, she had been depriving herself of their company more than they had been depriving her of theirs. Missandei and Gray Worm both exchanged a guilty glance but then Missadei smiled.

"It's not a desert. Heavy rains fall often but they are warm most of the year and everything blooms the most beautiful colors. The trees grow fruit with such flavors. I. . .I wish I could describe them but it has been so long."

Daenerys smiled at her, reaching across to grip her hand. "You want to go home, don't you?" Missandei's eyes widened and she could see tears welling, but the woman nodded at her.

"But not until Daenerys Stormborn sits on the Iron Throne," Gray Worm said firmly, reaching out to grip Missandei's hand. "Then we will both want to go to the Island of Naath together. I want to see Missandei's home with her."

She had never expected to hold the Iron Throne without Ser Jorah and she equally couldn't imagine not having Gray Worm and Missandei with her. She had years of practice at loosing friends so she smiled at them, leaning over to take their hands so they three of them formed a circle.

"I will miss you both. But I know what it feels like to need to go home."

The three of them spent the evening around her fire and Daenerys went to sleep feeling more at ease than she had in weeks but in her dreams she stood by a throne of swords, the ceiling torn away and snow drifted into the chamber. She had seen the visions before in her sleep but not for months and she stared around the room, wondering if it was a true vision of the Red Keep or just something her mind conjured. She'd sat on thrones in Yunkai, Mereen and Dragonstone but while the Iron Throne filled her mind, it's shape was vague in her head.

The smell of burning filled her nostrils and she reached out her hand to the snow, realizing finally that it was ash, lifted by a chill wind. The throne, when she turned back to it, was no longer made of swords but instead the blades had been replaced with blackened bones and she woke up, her breath coming in shuddering sobs.

The fire in the brazier had died to just coals but she could see the shapes of Gray Worm and Missandei across it, their bodies shifted in sleep to be wrapped around each other and she rose, creeping as silently as she could to reassure herself they were whole and unburnt, the vestiges of panic from the dream finally fading. She quietly added a few more sticks of wood to the brazier, then returned to her bed.

 

Daenerys pretended to be asleep when Missandei and Gray Worm got up, yawned and stretched at Missandei's gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled as if in sleepy confusion. She had never gone back to sleep but she knew they worried for her so she accepted the meat wrapped in pan-bread Missandei handed to her while her tent was packed away. She gestured Gray Worm over and smiled at them both, chewing a bite of her bread to give herself time to plan her words carefully.

"What would you say if I offered you the chance to leave for Naath today?" she asked and she saw them both look confused.

"I do not think," Gray Worm said, "that Naath can help us in taking Kings Landing."

"I don't mean to go make a treaty."

She could see the confusion and even a little hurt in their expressions. Gray Worm's glare turned serious. "Who would lead the Unsullied?"

"Yellow Snake is your second at the moment, isn't he?" Gray Worm nodded in confirmation.

"Yes. But he is not used to being in command."

"Neither were you once," she said, hoping the hand on his arm took the sting out of her words.

He started to protest but Missandei finally spoke. "Why do you ask this?" She didn't look upset like Gray Worm clearly was but nor did she look eager either.

"I have lost so many friends," Daenery told them, wondering if the ache in her heart she had felt in the hours she had laid awake reliving so many losses showed on her face. "Watched them be burned or buried or left to dry in the wastes. I have presided over arenas where men killed each other to try to please me, watched them ride off and never return." Or return with just a head in a saddle bag. "You two have become my dearest friends. My closest companions." Her oldest friends as well, since Ser Jorah had died. "No one can say for sure what will happen when we get to Kings Landing. I truly believe we can defear Cercei. But if anything happened to either of you, I am not sure I could count that victory worth the cost."

"How does it look," Gray Worm snapped, "if Missandei and I leave."

"Then sail to Mereen with the message that I wish Dario Neharis to send the Second Sons against the Golden Company. Where you sail from there is no one's concern."

"Do you want the Second Sons to come to Kings Landing?" Missadei asked and Daenerys shrugged.

"Not really. But if I say that is the message I am sending you with. . .and then I receive a raven saying that if I remove the Second Sons from Mereen the Wise Masters will threaten the city, I can countermand my own order. Who will tell me otherwise?"

Gray Worm's left hand snaked out and grabbed hers, his nails were short but they cut into her palm with the strength of his grip. "I see what you say. But my place is by your side." His other hand reached out to Missandei and on impulse, Daenerys took Missande's free hand so the three of them were joined in a circle. She had seen children play games that way, dancing around, linked together, and she swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat. "If I fall in battle," Gray Worm said, his voice low and intense, "I will be sad that I do not get to be with Missandei in Naath. But without Daenerys Stormborn, I would be. . ." he paused and she could see him swallowing hard as well. "I would never even know what Naath is. Or who Missandei is. If I leave and hear that Daenerys Stormborn loses, I would always feel I failed her. If I leave and I hear of her great victory, I would always feel I failed her.

Missandei was nodding, tears openly running down her face and she raised her arms to kiss the back of Daenery's hand roughly, then repeated the gesture on Gray Worm's knuckles. "He speaks for both of us when he says that our lives our yours, My Queen."

It would be useless to try to change their minds, she realized, and she nodded, embracing them both. Behind her she heard Drogon as he landed just outside the camp bounderies. Most of the horses were used to him now but a few still stamped in unease and whickered a plaintive call for reassurance to an equine friend.

"And my life," she reminded them, "belongs to both of you." She could see Tyrion in the distance speaking to Varys and they turned towards her at the same moment. She pretended not to notice them as she squeezed both Gray Worm and Missandei's hands then dropped them. "I will see you both tonight."

She walked through the lines of men, mostly Northerners and Wildlings that regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and grudging respect. Their open hostility had faded after the Battle of Winterfell but she wondered how long it would take before they forgot what had happened there and questioned why they followed her at all. She had heard them repeat the phrase, 'The North Remembers,' but she had learned that men's memories often times were short when there was something they didn't want to recall.

She held out her hand to Drogon and he nudged at it with his nose. His breath warmed her palm and she ran it down his neck to his shoulder and climbed his wing til she was mounted on his shoulder. Once in place she drew gloves and an extra scarf from her jacket that she wrapped around her head to help keep her ears warm. 

At her cue, the dragon's massive red-black wings unfurled and he tested them twice before putting enough strength into his flapping to lift him off the ground. He curved around the camp and she smiled, noting that nearly everyone was already in marching formation. She aimed him south, wanting to get a good view of the next few leagues ahead of them before she turned to scout to the east, west and north to ensure no one was trying to flank their armies. From higher up, Rhaegal dived, crossing Drogon's path. Her smaller son was circling in the opposite direction she and Drogon were going and she watched him dive towards the ground, already outside the borders of the camp. His breath flared but the shape he lifted from the ground appeared to be just a deer.

 

They ended the ninth full day since leaving Winterfell about three hours before sunset, only two leagues away from Moat Cailin. The armies could have pushed on to reach the abandoned towers but the counsel had decided that -- since the armies were making better time than first planned, it was best to stop short of the fortress and scout it in the daylight. They would spend the next night there, giving the men two shorter days in a row before pushing hard for the Trident where they would repeat the same tactic of stopping short of it in case Cercei's forces were already in place.

Daenerys made several passes of Moat Cailin after the armies had stopped for the night, waiting for screening darkness. She saw numerous small hamlets a distance from the fortress but no lights or scents made her suspect anyone was actually occupying it.

It was full dark when she landed, her body chilled as usual but this time it was Jon who waited for her with soup and she smiled at him, feeling her heart swell as their fingers brushed.

"You were up late? See anything?"

"Nothing," she told him, sipping at the soup. "I'll check again tomorrow."

"I thought it might be a good idea for me be on Rhaegal when we approach," he said, and she noticed he wasn't looking her in the eye. "If you think that's alright."

"He chose you. You don't need my permission," she said, her tone sharper than she intended because it hurt that he had come to see her about the dragon rather than any real concern for her or desire for her company. What puzzled her further was the wounded look in his eyes, as if he was the one that had been avoiding her. She felt her jaw tighten and her teeth clench before she forced herself to relax. "But yes, I do believe you should be on him. I try to see what I can but more eyes area always better." 

Her deepest fear that her sons wouldn't understand the danger humans could pose with their contraptions. Rhaegal generally flew higher than Drogon, protecting his brother's flank, but there were days he flew lower and she had to fight panic every time. Viserion's death, she suspected, would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"That's what Vary's said. More eyes." His own widened and her expression and he reached out to touch her arm. "I'm not just here because Varys advised it. I. . ." he leaned in and his lips brushed her cheek near her left ear. "I miss you."

Jon, she reflected, showed all his emotions in his voice so she knew he was telling the truth, but she could also hear the conflict in his tone as well and she leaned foward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. One of his arms came around her shoulders and after a moment he tightened it into a real embrace.

"I miss you too," she said, aware her words were muffled by the black wolf pelt on his cloak but she felt his lips brush the side of her head again and she didn't move out of his arms or even look up when Drogon flew away. He stood with her for a long time before stepping back but he kept hold of her hand as he led her towards her tent.

"Varys and Tyrion were hoping to meet with you tonight but I told them we could have a counsel meeting tomorrow after we were in Moat Cailin. Do you need more soup?"

"No." What she had drank was already roiling in her stomach but she knew she'd be able to keep it down. "Where are Gray Worm and Missadei? I thought they'd be meeting me tonight?"

Jon's grin went a little embarrassed but he didn't actually blush, though he did duck his head. "I told them they could have my tent tonight." Jon's tent was set up every night but she was aware he rarely slept in it, bedding down instead alongside either the Northerners or the Wildlings. "They had planned to wait for you but I told them I'd make sure you got something to eat and to make sure you don't get dragged into counsel meetings when you should be sleeping. Missandei," he added, his voice going stern, "said she woke up twice last night and you were awake."

She hadn't slept after her nightmare but she hadn't known Missadei had woken up during that time. 

"She said she didn't say anything in the night because she hoped you'd fall asleep and I don't think she said anything this morning because she felt bad that she fell back asleep both times. She's worried about you." His grip tightened. "I am too."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "After we've taken Kings Landing, I'll have plenty of time to rest." That wasn't true and she knew it. All the cities she had conquered and ruled had been harder to rule than they had been to conquer and she didn't think Westeros would be any different but the worry-lines around Jon's eyes faded.

He held back the door to her tent and she tried to conceal the relief on her face when he didn't just leave her at the door. His escort, it seemed, didn't even stop at the counsel room. Her fire was burning and he took the seat Missandei had used the night before.

"How are you?" he asked and she allowed a little of her armor to drop as she faced him across the flames.

"I'm tired," she admitted. "I still grieve for Ser Jorah and for Viserion." His expression turned into a frown for a moment but he forced it away and she concealed her own anger. The Ice Dragon had hunted him and she understood the terror he had probably felt during the Battle of Winterfell but no matter what the Ice Dragon had done, Viserion was still her child and she couldn't imagine not feeling grief as his loss the same way she still felt twinges of sadness when something reminded her of Rheago. Jon might be in awe of the dragons and had fully embraced their strategic value, but he had never shown any sign of loving them.

If she had an adviser, she thought, who saw them as more than just pieces in the game of thrones, it was Tyrion. Everyone else saw them in terms of tactics and power but Tyrion seemed to be interested in them just because they existed. She wondered how he would react if she offered him a ride but she remembered him siding with Varys in encouraging her to name and heir. Even in her own mind she realized she was being spiteful but she looked over at Jon, trying to conceal the bitterness. Part of her wanted to just tell Tyrion and Varys who Jon really was but part of her also cringed at the thought they may decide he would be a better King than she would be a Queen. She was even willing to admit he had the better claim but she thought of the two dragons, the Dothraki and Unsullied armies and how much she had sacrificed to come to Westeros and she wasn't sure that she would be willing to give it up for a mere accident of birth.

His eyes met hers and he stood, walking over until he was in front of her chair and he went to his knees, leaning in to kiss her. She could see the hunger warring with the reluctance but hunger won and she wondered for a moment why -- when he had been avoiding her for days -- had he chosen this day. But she kissed him back, her hands sliding over his shoulders beneath the folds of his cloak before she went to her knees in front of her own chair. They kissed back and forth for a few minutes before he stood, pulling her up with him and leading her to her bed.

She wouldn't cede power to him based on birth alone, she reflected, as his beard tickled her throat while he worked the frogs on her jacket loose then pushed it off her shoulders. But she would share it with him freely if he asked her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Daenerys still has an ulcer. Hence part of why she had trouble eating and sleeping. Granted, her mental health isn't helping but since mental and physical health play off each other, that just makes it worse for both.
> 
> I wanted to play with a few of Daenery's relationships here and give her a few good moments. She's started to realize how isolated she is but by letting her have time with Missadei and Gray Worm and later with Jon, that's going to make it all worse when things go sideways and she doesn't have those people available, either physically or emotionally. This Daenerys isn't going to burn Kings Landing but I need her to be willing to, while still remaining enough of her humanity to be a redeemable character.
> 
> Also, she somewhat isolates herself because she believes Jon is bothered by the fact she's still mourning Viscerion where what he's actually reacting to is his own knowledge that -- when he left Kings Landing, Ser Jorah was still alive. But since he doesn't know if Ser Jorah is getting better or worse, he does't want to get her hopes up. 
> 
> Jon isn't trying to play Daenerys by sleeping with her when he wants something and ignoring her with he doesn't need her. The next chapter will be from his perspective and I want to go into how guilty he feels about loving/lusting after her when she is his Aunt. For all he is half Targaryan by birth, he's also still half Stark. . .and was raised purely as a Northerner. So yes, he has his own conflict.
> 
> I like Jon as a character. . .I always have. I just didn't like him with Daenerys. . .or at least not long term (short term makes a lot of sense) so expect him to be in a good place at the end of this story. However, that place won't be ruling the Seven Kingdom's as Daenerys' husband (or her as Queen because she is his wife and he's Rhegar's son).


	20. Chapter 20

Jon felt Daenerys contract around him, her low cries muted as she clenched her teeth around her bottom lip. He moved his hands from her breasts to her hips and thrust up to where she rode him, her muscles trembling as her pace faltered. He waited until she collapsed onto his chest to roll them so he was on top, feeling his tenuous control slip as she fluttered against his cock. 

He came moments later, muffling his own cries against her shoulder and the gaze she directed at him was a sleepy grin that he had no trouble returning. Part of him still felt guilty about making love to her but he surpressed it ruthlessly. He had been watching her for days and it had been increasingly clear she had been isolating herself from everyone who had once been her companions and the strain was starting to show.

He tried to not compare making love to Daenerys to the same self-serving actions that had led him to make love to Ygritte, in order to convince her he'd utterly given up his vows to the Night's Watch. She snuggled into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her right eyebrow. Her silver hair was slightly damp at her temples and he smoothed it away over her ear.

There may, he finally admitted, been something self-serving to his actions with both women. But he genuinely cared about them. He slipped out of Daenerys and his moist cock settled against his leg. The mix of their fluids would be tacky in the morning, sticking to his leg hair and there was no reason he couldn't call for warm water to clean himself, but Daenerys was snuggled against him, nearly asleep. He desperately wanted her to have the sort of night sleep that the dark circles under her eyes betrayed she was not getting.

He tightened his grip, brushing his lips against her hair. "I love you," he whispered and he felt her relax against him, her breathing evening out.

It wasn't even a lie.

But it also wasn't fully the truth.

His fingers smoothed down her arm and brushed her belly. There was no swelling to indicate she might be carrying a child, but he felt a mix of hope and despair. Viscerion's death had shaken her badly, more so than she seemed willing to show to most people. The birth of a human child wouldn't replace the grief, but he hoped it woud temper it.

He snorted joylessly to himself, thinking back to when he had refused to have sex because he had been afraid of bringing another bastard into the world. It had taken Ygritte to overcome his principals and part of that might have been because Wildings didn't marry the same way Westerosi did. Wedlock wasn't a condition of sex for their men and women so children born outside of it were treated the same was as any other.

Daenerys as well was beyond the same rules he'd always been raised with. As both a Queen and a Targaryan, her children were above most laws and something as inconvienent as illigitimacy could be brushed aside at her mere word.

In some ways it didn't seem fair that he'd lived all his life with the stigma of being a bastard when he had been the true son of a ligitimate marriage. What bothered him more, he had to admit, was that while Daenerys hadn't been bothered by his parentage when she had first taken him as a lover, the fact that he was her nephew made her want him more, while at the same time it made him question his feelings for her at all.

Ned Stark had guarded the secret for Jon's entire life and had taken it to his grave but now Jon, Daenerys, Sam and Bran all knew the truth. He's often heard people joke about two people could keep a secret, it one of them was dead. What, he thought to himself, were the chances four people would be able to keep it to themseves.

Daenerys stirred in his arms and he loosened them, realizing he'd been clutching her too tightly. She turned so her shoulderblades were against his chest, her buttocks aligned against his groin and he adjusted the furs so they covered her shoulders.

 

Daenerys was gone when he woke up, late if the feel of the air was anything to go by. He rose and dressed hastily. The coals in the brazier were had gone out but the wash water standing next to it wasn't quite cold.

She was entering the tent just as he was leaving and they collided. They bounced off each other and she laughed in surprise but the look on her face wasn't displeased and he released her, not even aware that he had grabbed her to steady her until he was dropping his arm. There were three Unsullied behind her and at her nodd, they went past to start packing up her tent.

The air was still foggy in the dawn chill and he relaxed. It was still later than he was normally up but not as late as it felt. He had slept better, he decided, than he had thought. She handed him a hunk of bread and he bit into it. The loaf had evidently been fresh-baked because it steamed in the morning air. It was ordinary camp bread but someone had slathered butter on it and he bolted it down.

Drogon and Rhaegal were both on the ground nearby and he remembered he'd told her he intended to ride Rhegal that day.

"How are you this morning?" he asked and she smiled.

"I am well. I'm sorry I didn't wake you when I got up. I did try."

"What happened?" He didn't remember anything but she grinned.

"You grunted at me then pulled the pillow over your head. Since we have such a short distance to travel today, I decided it didn't matter. In fact, waiting for the fog to burn off before the troops march is probably best."

He smiled at her, then leaned in to kiss her. "I agree. How much longer?"

"For them, maybe an hour. I thought you and I could make our first pass now, where the fog can conceal us."

He nodded, pulling on his gloves and allowing her to help him knot a scarf over his head. The dragons looked up when they approached and Rheagal butted him playfully on the shoulder. It nearly knocked him over but he pushed back with his palm and the green dragon nuzzled it.

"I think he's missed having a rider."

He wasn't sure if there really was seture in her tone or if he was just imaging it because he felt guilty.

He heard Tormund's laughter behind him and braced himself just in time to not go sprawling as Tormund's hand landed on his shoulder hard enough to feel like it was going to leave a bruise. "So you're going to ride another dragon?"

"No, I'm going to ride the same dragon," Jon corrected and Tormund shrugged as if the detail was inconsequential.

"No wonder the Dragon Queen likes you," Tormund said, taking a swig of whatever hung around his neck. "If you can ride a dragon, you must be good at riding." He thrust once with his pelvis, as if to demonstrate but Jon was relieved he didn't repeat the gesture a second time. The Wildlings, Jon knew, considered sex natural and didn't understand cultures that restricted it. Tormund's words were a complement but he could see from the look in Daenery's eyes that she was furious, even if she was trying to hide it.

Daenery's, Jon knew, hated being talked down to most of all and he grinned, reaching out to catch her hand in his and squeezing it tightly in warning.

"Tormund," Jon said, keeping his voice even. "I've only on a dragon a few times. Daenery's has been doing it for years. Which of us do you think is a better rider?" He raised his eyebrows and smirked at the same time.

Tormund stared at them for a moment before he realized what Jon meant and he choked on a mouthful of whatever he was drinking, spewing it on the ground in front of him as he wheezed and laughed at the same time. Jon patted him on the back a few times but led Daenery's away when it became clear Tormund was fine but before he could fully recover his breath.

He held her hand until she pulled away to step onto Drogon's wing and she smiled at him. "He doesn't mean to be offensive," he explained but then shrugged at the skeptical look on Daenery's face. "Or he doesn't mean to be as offensive as he is."

"That," she said, amusement warming her voice, "I would believe." She leaned over and kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair before stepping away and ensuring her gloves and hood were firmly in place. "Good hunting.

 

They spent six hours in the air, crossing the countryside around, beyond and at Moat Cailin itself. They flew circles around the actual keep itself while a combination of Northerners and Unsullied entered first, followed by the Dothraki and the Wildlings. If there were any inhabitants, it wasn't visible from the air and rather than land right away, Daenerys led them on a recon of their road ahead, They circled the area for about two hours, ensuring they had a good idea of anyone who was within a days march of where they would be traveling the next day.

Jon’s hands had stiffened by the time they had landed and he could barely pull off his gloves. It was a short day from Daenerys’ perspective, he realized, and his respect for the Dragon Queen rose slightly more. He had known it was cold in the air; he hadn’t realized it had been that miserable but Daenerys did it, day after day with no complaint or even hints of what she went through.

The courtyard at Moat Cailin was crowded with Soldiers and Jon was pleased to see groups of Unsullied, Dothraki, Northerners and Wildlings together setting up tents and fires, mixing as if they were one Army rather than four. Daenerys, he saw, was smiling contentedly and he leaned his shoulder against hers and the smile she gave him tightened his cock.

“You look like your blood is cold, Crow,” Tormund roared and shoved his horn of fermented mare milk at him. Jon sipped, knowing Tormund was baiting him and he barely avoided choking on the vile brew but the fire that burned down his throat all the way to his stomach almost felt welcome after the cold. Tomund grinned at him again, strolling away and Jon finally dared to grimace. He turned to Daenery’s expecting to see her grin but her expression was as frozen as his blood felt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching out to touch her arm and she shrugged away. “Dany.” He sounded liked he was whining, even to himself but he also realized it was because she had a point. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was a woman, if it was because of her silver-blond hair or her violet eyes, the way she carried herself, her dragons, the Armies who followed her or a combination of all of it but people treated her different.

“Give them time,” he pleaded, dropping his voice and leaning in close but she recoiled away from him. He was surprised how much the simple gesture hurt and he acknowledged that part of him deserved it for doing the same to her just a few days before.

“Time?” Her voice was pitched low but it cut like a whip. “How much time? How much of my people’s blood – my children’s blood – do I need to spill before I am something other than an outsider?”

“Dany, look at yourself.” He gestured towards her, leaning in, trying to take some of the sting out of his words. “You’re a Queen.”

“They named you King of the North and yet they still treat you as one of them.”

“You ride a dragon.”

“And so do you now.” He could hear the cracks in the control in her voice. “Yet they treat you the same.”

“But they knew me before I ever rode Rheagal. To them, you are magic.”

“I nursed the dragon's at my breasts but I didn't bear them in my womb. You died.”

It was another valid point that he had no answer for but she stepped back when he went to put an arm around her. She whirled around, not stomping when she went to where Missandei had come out into the courtyard. He hesitated, not sure if he should follow her but Varys and Tyrion walked over to him. Vary’s eyebrows rose as he watched the two women walk back into the keep together.

“The Queen looked upset.” It irritated Jon that he couldn’t tell if Varys was gently chiding him or sounding almost hopeful.

“She’s had a long few days,” Jon snapped. “Riding a dragon may appear effortless but it’s freezing and tiring and she’s up there hours before we start and hours after we halt for the night.”

Vary’s held out his palms, as if conceding the point. “No one ever said her job would be easy. Though I was hoping for something more simple. . .breeding women can sometimes be irrational.”

Tyrion’s face lost his seemingly permanent jaded scowl and he looked interested. “I don’t suppose we could hope for that?” He sounded almost cheerful but then his shoulders slumped when Jon shook his head. “Too bad. I do wish she would name an heir. Her job is dangerous and if anything should happen to her, I can’t even imagine how many decades it would take to restore any form of leadership in Westeros.”

“She’s not. At least,” Jon added, “I don’t think she is. It’s possible, I suppose.”

Varys just looked smug and Jon tried not to let his wince show. “Excuse me. I have a Queen to go make-up with.”

She was already inside but it wouldn’t be too hard to find where she was sleeping. He only hoped she would talk to him rather than making him speak through a door.

And for perhaps the thousandth time since he and Bran had been at Winterfell, he wished that he had told her she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Or hadn’t bbeen, he reflected, when they had left Winterfell. He wished he could cheer her with the news now but after days without word from Sansa, he had no idea if Ser Jorah was still alive and he didn’t dare tell her until he knew for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to be kind to Jon during this process and give him a little awareness that Daenerys isn't doing well, even if he hasn't quite recognized how bad she's gotten. I'm hoping my hints came through in here as well. . .yes, Varys is being a little oily and Tyrion over-eager for her to be pregnant. But look at from their perspective. The War of Five Kings had torn Westeros apart for nearly a decade now and though it looked like there is a prospective new leader, they're also worried what if something happens to her if there is no named heir and how many worse threats there are out there and how they don't want to go through another round of succession. Jon and Daenerys didn't go through it (at least not to the same extent in Westeros) so they're not seeing some of the things they think are unfair is just stemming from fear.
> 
> Sorry this update has taken so long. I'm in the National Guard and my unit is currently prepping for deployment (this time next month, I should be in another country) so we're going through training and I've had very little time to write lately. But I'm hoping as we're getting into a groove again that I can have more time to write because I really want to get this story finished. Thanks all very much for your patience.


	21. Chapter 21

The bed in Moat Cailin was more comfortable than anything Daenerys had slept on in weeks but she rolled over for what felt like the thousandth time in the night. The ache in her belly warred with the fever tightness of her throat and she finally floundered out of the furs. The pitcher on her dressing table was empty and she flung the door open, not surprised to see Jon sitting in the hall across from her door. He’d stopped pleading with her to open the door hours before but she hadn’t really thought he was gone.

He scrambled to his feet, blinking at her in sleepy surprise his eyes went to the empty pitcher and she was equally unsurprised when he topped it off with a waterskin.

“Will you let me come in?” he asked, and she nodded. The brown clay pitcher felt rough under her fingers but the glaze of the cup was smooth as window-glass and she refilled it twice, the cool water soothing her throat but the taste was strange and she decided against a third cup, even if she was still thirsty. “I’m sorry they upset you. . .that I upset you.”

She bit her lip hard, feeling the pain and tasting the blood. The wind that blew in her face when she rode Drogon had dried her skin to the point where it was cracking on her lips. “I told myself, when I lost Viserion, that it was for a good cause. That we needed Cersei to help us fight the Night King and that if we hadn’t gone for the wight, that if Viserion hadn’t died, that we would have had no chance without Cersei’s Army.” She saw him wince and look away. Part of her wanted to stop there, to put her arms around him and let him soothe her but it was too late. Even without saying it, he knew her meaning and she heard the words fall as if it were someone else speaking them. “But Cersei’s Army never came. We stopped the Night King with the Dothraki and the Unsullied, with Drogon and Rheagal. With the Wildlings and the Northerners.” Even to her, her voice sounded cold but it was if she was standing aside, watching herself and unable to stop the woman wearing her skin and speaking with her voice.

“If you hadn’t have gone for the wight? If Viserion wouldn’t have died? I wonder what kind of difference it would have made fighting with three dragons instead of two? Instead of having Viserion fighting for the Night King? I wonder how many more men would have been saved? Dothraki? Unsullied? Northerners? Wildlings?” Her men and his men. She felt the knife-twist of sorrow as it occurred to her that Jorah might have been spared his last stand if Rhaegal hadn’t been so preoccupied with Viserion when Drogon had fled the wights.

“Daenerys,” Jon’s tone was gentle but she turned her back on him and shut the door. She didn’t draw the bolts to lock him out but he didn’t even tough the wood of it and she didn’t even try to stifle the tears as she crawled back into the bed. She already knew she wouldn’t sleep but the furs wrapped around her helped warm her skin.

 

Jon was still outside her door when she walked into the hallway in the morning, wrapping the thick woolen scarf around her throat.

“You’re dressed for flying?” he said and she could hear how carefully he was trying to keep his tone sounding perfectly neutral. “Did you change your mind about a few days rest?”

“No. But word that we’re moving is bound to have reached Cersei at some point. If there is any surprise waiting for us from her or her Armies, I believe the sooner we know, the better.”

He nodded, stepping back out of her path and she turned to him, aware she probably still looked as frozen as any of the wights that had come over the wall.

“Two sets of eyes could be better than one.”

He shook his head, stepping further back from her. “I have duties here today. Seeing to the men. I doubt she could have moved this fast anyway.”

“You mean you don’t wish to be seen as different?” Her tone was mocking even to her own ears and she watched him wince away.

“That’s not it. Daenerys, I just want-”

“Just want what? To continue to be Jon Snow, Lord Eddard’s bastard? To not be Prince Rheagar’s son?”

“If that means not being King Ahery’s grandson, maybe I don’t,” he snapped, and she watched as he realized what he had said and sighed. “Dany, I didn’t mean that.”

“Except we both know you did. In fact, that might be the first truthful thing you’ve said to me in weeks.”

“Do you think I lied when I told you I loved you?” There was almost a desperation in his voice and it nearly made her laugh, even if she felt oddly like crying.

“I don’t think you were lying to me. But I think you may have been lying to yourself.” She wasn’t sure whether to be hurt or relieved when he didn’t reply and let her walk out.”

 

If the first few weeks of their travels had been uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to their next few weeks. The men made good time, with few obstacles and if Varys and Tyrion congratulated themselves on their ability to resource food for the armies without looting or pilfering, Daenerys was aware her smiles were thin and Jon’s praise sounded false to her. They never quarreled or spoke harshly to each other but she was aware they never really spoke unless it was in some counsel meeting or other where they said kind things and didn’t look one another in the eye. For Daenerys, it felt more and more like she was slipping away from herself and she would suddenly wake up in the middle of a conversation she wasn’t aware she was having and have to hide her confusion with a polite smile or friendly word. She wished she knew where she was going when she wasn’t aware but it just seemed easier so she was content to let the time and distance pass without her being present.

She wasn’t aware how long she had been riding Drogon that day when she found herself staring at three rivers coming together and she remembered a snatch of conversation from the night before where Tyrion had said something about coming up to the Trident and her laughing at him asking if it would bother her. She felt her belly heave at the realization she was looking down at where Rhaegar had been defeated by Robert and she clung to Drogon as his wings beat frantically in a rapid climb. Rheagal was somewhere below them and she felt a scream rip from her throat as a spear taller than her and thicker than her arm passed close enough for her to feel the shudder in the air but then Rheagal’s scream was blending with hers and she watched helpless as her son was falling from the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to feel so disassociated. It started writing it and it felt very soulless and I was on the verge of deleting it. . .but then I realized that maybe it did a better job of conveying what Daenerys was feeling that I meant. At this point she's so disassociated, it's hard to feel like we're in her head when not even she feels that way.
> 
> I also realized that I am out of random travel stories and I needed to jump ahead about 500 miles so why no just go ahead and get that stretch between Moat Cailin and the Trident out of the way. Maybe it's cheating but no one can say that the show itself didn't jump vast distances so it was do that or spend weeks trying to think of little vignettes bouncing back and forth between Jon and Daenerys' perspectives.
> 
> SPOILER ALERT: It may be a while before I post another chapter due to everything going on with my life (deploying and getting ready to move from mob training to overseas, and not sure what's going to be up with internet for a while). However, because I detest cliffhangers and it seems like I'm leaving this one on a bit of a cliff-hanger for a little while. . .but for those of you interested, Rheagal doesn't die. And unlike Ser Jorah, Daenerys is going to know he's not dead. But she's also going to have to leave him seriously wounded, unsure if he is going to die or not, and it's going to take another step towards her going mad.


	22. Chapter 22

Jaime didn’t know why he found the skin on Brienne’s left shoulder entrancing but he ran his fingers over it, curled up against her back. She was asleep, tired out from a day of training with both recovering warriors and young men and women who had no experience with weapons but who were taking up the role of defenders of Winterfell. No one was very clear on what threat they could possibly be defending against since the Night King was gone and the Wildlings were marching south with the very northern army they had once fought against but that hadn’t stopped Brienne from drilling them all the same.

Brienne’s breath stuttered slightly and she half turned, her blue eyes creasing at the corners as she saw him and he grinned at her, delighted that her smile answered his. “What time is it?”

“You’ve only been asleep an hour.” It had been more than the training that had tired her. She made love with all the same enthusiasm she displayed in training but unlike training – where she never rested – she’d fallen asleep moments after he’d reached his climax. It made him nervous to spill himself inside her but she’d only laughed at him and reminded him that – should it be needed – couples in the North were able to marry themselves in Winterfell’s Gods Wood and he dropped his hand to curl around her abdomen. If she was pregnant, she wouldn’t show for weeks yet and he found himself torn between hope and fear. She rolled onto her back, her eyes slitting open with suspicion.

“What are you thinking?” She took the sting from her doubtful tone with a kiss that landed nearer to his ear than his cheek but he stroked the muscles and felt her shiver away from his touch.

“How much I love you.”

“Mmmm.” It was a warm, sleepy sound and he reveled in it, leaning in to kiss her and letting his hand drift lower. She stiffened and moaned but didn’t seem to object to his attentions. “Again?” But she sounded more pleased than annoyed and he moved his mouth to the skin where her neck joined her shoulder and was rewarded with her hands moving to the back of his head, as if to hold him in place.

He was just settling into the cradle of her thighs when there was a sharp pounding on the door and Pod’s voice was muffled by the heavy wood but the stress of it came through. “Ser Brienne. Ser Jaime.”

Jaime cursed the interruption but Brienne had already wiggled from beneath him and was pulling on a tunic. Jaime grabbed trousers but didn’t bother with a shirt, making sure Brienne was covered adequately before throwing open the door. Of course, with two hands, she had managed to get tunic and trousers on in the same time it had taken him to get just trousers and Jaime concealed a sniff of irritation. He still missed his right hand with every breath but he couldn’t think of anything he could do different now that could have both kept his hand and still won him the woman beside him. In the end, he admitted privately, he would make no other choice. She was worth a thousand of his hands.

“What’s the matter, Pod?” Brienne’s voice was harsher than Jaime had expected and he realized she was as unhappy about the interruption as he was – though she would never neglect duty for pleasure as he would have been tempted.

“We just got a Raven. From Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion.” From the look on Pod’s face, it wasn’t a good message. “Lady Sansa begs you attend upon her at once.”

“Of course.” Brienne bucked Oathkeeper at her waist and Jaime took the time to don a tunic. He picked up Widow’s Wail and his belt but he followed Pod down the corridor to Sansa’s study.

Sam was already there and Sansa was pacing back and forth. She glanced at Pod but then sighed, as if she had though of asking him to leave but decided against it.

“Lord Tyrion has been sending messages since they left Winterfell. He has been increasingly concerned about Queen Daenerys.” Sansa shook her head at them, waving a dismissive hand. “I have kept these messages to myself because I was hoping that it was whatever strange rift between Jon and Daenerys was to blame. Indeed, a few weeks ago Lord Tyrion was hopeful because they had appeared to make up whatever their quarrel was. But within a few days it was worse than ever. He has been afraid for her sanity. He says she appears to be growing away from everyone and has been increasingly absent minded, as if she isn’t aware what it occurring around her. But yesterday, when they reached the Trident, the Golden Company had set a scorpion and her dragon was hit.”

“Is she alright?” Sam asked, his eyes wide.

“It was Rhaegal, not Drogon that was struck. Jon wasn’t on him at the time. Though apparently Daenerys is blaming Jon. Tyrion says that Daenerys says if Jon was there, he could have recognized the danger in time to keep Rhaegal away from the Scorpion. He says she cries one moment, and rages the next.”

“Having only one dragon will make it harder to defeat Cersei,” Brienne said but Sansa shook her head. She was still wearing her heavy black gown, as if the message had come before she had a chance to reach her own chamber.

“It could. But Rhaegal survived. Jon and Daenerys cauterized his wound. He lost a great deal of blood and they don’t know if he will survive, which may be making it worse. She is caught in the agony between hope and despair. Jon also wrote to ask . . .” Sansa trailed off, glancing at Pod but the young man shrugged.

“You mean, he wanted to know if Ser Jorah is alive or dead?”

Jaime felt his eyebrows raise, the same expression mirrored by Lady Sansa but Brienne snorted.

“He’s not an idiot, you know. I’m not surprised he figured it out.”

Sansa shrugged, but her lips twisted. “He was hoping – if Ser Jorah was recovered enough to travel – he might be able to help Daenerys.”

“Ser Jorah is doing better, true enough,” Sam admitted. “He hasn’t had a fever in a week and he swallows broth and water. But he still hasn’t woken and until he does, we won’t know if his mind survived as well as his body.”

“So we daren’t give her that hope,” Sansa said. “Jon’s message is more cautious than Tyrion’s but I can tell he is concerned for her as well.” She didn’t object when Jaime reached past her to pick up the slip of parchment. The writing was tiny and compact but tidy.

‘I know Tyrion and Varys told you about Rhaegal. Daenerys and I were able to stop the bleeding with fire but she blames me for not being on him because Dragon’s don’t recognize danger could come from something so small. We can’t know if he will die or not and that’s tearing her apart more than when Viserion was truly dead. I was questioning whether we should have told her about Jorah but now I think we may have been right to conceal it but if you have good news for me, please send me word or better yet, the Bear. No one else can calm her now except perhaps Missandei and even she sometimes not. Gray Worm keeps the Unsullied in check but the Dothraki take their cues from Daenerys. I hate Cersei but I fear for the people of Kings Landing.’

The other scroll was in Tyrion’s writing at the start, a little more rounded and slightly less neat, but his words were no less bleak.

‘Rhaegal was pierced through the neck with a scorpion spear. The beast hasn’t died but it might be better if he had. His mother screams of fire and blood and putting cities to the sack and I both fear for her and fear her. She blames Jon, which may or not have been fear. The two of them had barely spoken for days but she asked him to ride that morning and he had declined. Some moments she appears to remember that and other times it as if she forgets. Ask Jaime if her father ever did that before he went mad. We are all trying to delay her here at the Trident we’re not sure how many more days we can keep her here and I pity Kings Landing when we arrive.’

“She’s going to burn the city to the ground, isn’t she?” Sam asked, his voice trembling.

“Maybe not,” Sansa said, reaching across to squeeze his hand. “She is torn by grief now but they’ll make sure she doesn’t leave until she’s better.”

“You read it. They can’t control her. It’s why they’re asking for Ser Jorah. They need someone who can reason with her. She killed my father and brother when they wouldn’t kneel and they hadn’t even done anything as bad as kill one of her dragons.”

Jaime felt the tremble start at the pit of his stomach and radiate outward. Cersei had sent Bronn to kill him but even the part of him that wanted to tell his twin to go to hell shrunk from the through of her skin turning to ash. His imagination turned inward to the child inside her and the tiny bones and delicate fingers erupting like wildfire; at lungs destroyed before they ever had a chance to take a breath.

He could hear Sansa, Sam and Brienne talking as if from a great distance and he reached out, fumbling for Brienne’s hand. She turned away from Sansa, staring at him and he could see the growing horror in her sapphire-blue eyes.

“There may be,” he said, his voice echoing in his own ears as Brienne shook her head mutely, as if to deny what she knew he was going to say, “a way to save Kings Landing. If Cersei surrenders the city to Daenerys.”

“She won’t do that,” Sansa sighed. “Maybe if there were two dragons. But not for just one.”

“She might. If I would convince her.” He thought back to the villa Tyrion owned in ____ and how he had once tried to get his own lover there.  
“How would you do that?” Sam asked and Brienne took a step away from him.

“No,” she hissed, “She’ll have you killed.”

“She won’t.” he sighed, feeling the knot in his own throat close. “Not if I go back to her. Not if I. . . .” he trailed off as the brightness in Brienne’s eyes spilled over onto her cheeks.

“I won’t let you.”

He grabbed Brienne’s hand, squeezing it so tight he knew her fingers had to ache and he wished for a moment he had another hand to brush the tears away. Sansa, Sam and Pod were staring at him but it was only Brienne who mattered in that moment.

“Cersei is proud. She’s every inch our father’s daughter and Lord Tywin never accepted he was defeated, no matter how badly things were crashing down about him. And yet, Tywin’s one weakness was his family. Cersei’s weakness is me. And our child. If I can get her to flee Kings Landing, the people will surrender the city to Daenerys and even mad, I think the Dragon Queen has mercy left in her.” He finally let go of Brienne’s hand, wrapping his right arm around her waist to draw her into his side and he used his left hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. Her expression had gone rigid and there was no trace of any kind of prettiness about her red and swollen eyes but he kissed her left temple.

“I wish there was another way.” She turned away from him and he didn’t hold her as she stepped out of reach. He felt the knot aching in his throat but there was no time or place for his own regret. He was all to aware of how he had just shattered everything he had ever tried to build in her and clenched his left hand hard enough that the nails biting into his palms helped anchor him in his own pain rather than wallowing in hers.

What he had given her, he thought, was a shell of self-confidence but underneath it, there was a much stronger person. The Brienne who had fought for Renly and who had defended Lady Caitlin and her quest to rescue her daughters was enough to survive even the seemingly mortal blow he had just dealt her.

“How will you get there before Daenerys? She has three weeks head start on you,” Sam asked and Jaime shook his head.

“By land, I would have no hope. But if I ride to White Harbor now, I can take a ship and I believe I can beat her there. Assuming Rheagal continues to linger. If the beast dies, I may not have a chance.”

“White Harbor is a two-day ride,” Sansa pointed out and Jaime sighed.

“Not if I don’t stop to rest.”

Sansa’s sigh echoed his own as she rose from her seat. The younger woman studied Brienne’s face and Jaime didn’t know what communication passed between them but Sansa sighed again. “I’ll give instructions for food to be prepared.” At her gesture, Pod and Sam followed her and Jaime turned back to Brienne.

“I wish there was another way,” he whispered and she jerked out of his reach when he stepped towards her.

“There is another way. I can accept you’re the only one who may be able to get close enough to kill her but you’re the one who won’t suggest that.”

“Should I kill her? And our baby she’s carrying?”

“You have only her word that child is yours.” There was a harshness to Brienne he wasn’t used to but he recognized it for the armor she was using to cover her exposed emotions.

“And would that make it better, to kill another man’s child, just because it wasn’t my own?” He was pretty sure her look of loathing at him was also partly self-loathing and he stepped in slowly, burying his face in her shoulder. She stood rigid, arms at her sides and he kept his from going around her. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t what I wanted. But if I can get her to leave Westeros.” He hoped she heard the regret in his voice. He tried to kiss her cheek as she stepped away but his lips landed somewhere in the vicinity of her ear and he didn’t pursue her to try to correct his aim. As a last kiss, it was heartbreaking but he wasn’t sure anything could make it better.

“You’re not planning on coming back, are you?” she challenged. “You’ll get her to run away with you and then you’ll stay with her.”

“She’d still be a dangerous woman. Best she have a keeper.” The words felt like knives in his throat but it was nothing to the look she threw at him before she whirled away and stormed out after Sansa.

He went to the stables, rather than back to his room, and it wasn’t long after his horse was saddled that Pod appeared with his clothes and food packed neatly for his journey as well as his armor and a heavier set of riding leathers kept aside to change into for the journey. Pod helped Jaime tie the pack to the back of the saddle and fasten the catches for the armor that were hardest to do one-handed.

It wasn’t until they were finished that Jaime grabbed Pod’s hand, pulling the younger man into an embrace. “You understand why I have to do it, don’t you?” he asked as Pod’s grip threatened to crush his lungs.

“I understand why you think you have to,” Pod finally said, stepping out of the hug. “But I don’t think you can reason with the Queen.”

“Which one?” Pod didn’t seem amused by his quip but he patted Jaime’s shoulder and stepped back to let him mount. Jaime was tightening his grip on the reins, one hand on the saddle-bow when he saw a flicker of motion in the outer stable yard and Brienne’s platinum hair above a night-black cloak. She moved slowly towards him, her face angry, her hands jerking at the ties as she stripped Oathkeeper’s belt from her waist.

She shoved it at him roughly but he deflected it with his left hand and his right stump. “Take it,” she hissed.

“It’s yours,” he said, fighting to keep his voice calm, aware he was using the same words as when she’d tried to give Oathkeeper to him at River Run.

“Take it.” Her words were almost a snarl and he felt his own eyes fill with tears that he ignored but his left hand closed around the hilt almost involuntarily. Her fingers were warm but she jerked them away like she’d been stung. He’d promised Jon that the swords from Ice would remain in the north, defending the Starks and he wondered if he could get Pod to take them back to Lady Sansa but then Brienne jerked her head at his own sword belt.

“Did you ever think of a new name for it?”

“For Widow’s Wail?” He winced again, as he did every time he heard the name his first son had picked for the sword. “No.”

“Pick something now.” Her voice was imperious, verging on anger but he wondered how much of it was a front to hide pain and he threw back his shoulders, facing her as a Knight to another Knight rather he would have faced a woman he had betrayed.

“I am terrible at names,” he admitted, loosening his belt and rolling the red leather around the jeweled pommel. “It’s a Northern sword, born from Ice. Frost? Oathbreaker?” Her eyes flinched away from his at ‘Oathbreaker’ and he raised an eyebrow as if daring her to contradict him. “Wailing Wind?” He could hear the pleading in his voice and her chin jerked up.

“North Wind.” Her voice was more steady than her hands and he could hear the resolution in it but he smiled.

“I like that. North Wind. They say the North remembers.” Somehow her right hand had ended up in his left one as they had been trading swordbelts and he caressed her fingers then pressed them to his lips. “I will never forget, you know.”

“You should,” she said, her voice rough again as she pulled her hand away and this time he didn’t try to stop her as she stepped away. His eyes drifted to where she had parted her cloak to buckle North Wind and he almost smiled when he realized the tunic she wore underneath the cloak was his. Which meant the one he’d shoved in the top of his pack after changing into the clothes Pod had brought him was one of hers. 

He concealed the expression, afraid she would take it for mocking but he wondered how many times in the next few weeks he would be pulling it from his saddlebags to try to catch any lingering traces of her scent on it and he wondered if she had any idea that she still had his or it she would discover it later.

“I won’t.” She stepped up, taking the reins from him and steadying his horse as he mounted. Her hand closed around his calf, over his boot and she patted it twice before stepping away. Her gesture was an informal salute between Knights and he desperately wanted to lean down for another kiss but he realized his own control was as thin as hers and he was close to telling her he’d changed his mind and wouldn’t leave her.

But he closed his eyes, picturing Myrcella in his arms as she died, the last time he had looked at Joffrey or Tommen and the slight swell of Cersei’s belly under his hands when he had been at Kings Landing. He’d gone North to save the child but the new threat was coming from the North.

Brienne let go of the reins and he urged the horse forward into the darkness at a gallop. He wouldn’t be able to keep up the speed for long if the horse was to last him the full two days to White Harbor. There should have been inns between to change horses but he didn’t dare assume they were currently occupied with innkeepers and remounts but he didn’t dare linger in Winterfell a moment longer in case his resolve weakened. There was a slight, swirling snow around him and he re-adjusted his cloak around the new sword belt. He used his stump to wipe the tears out of his eyes, knowing that even if he never saw Brienne again, no matter how badly he had hurt her and how little she was able to voice her forgiveness or understanding, the very act of her trading Oathkeeper for North Wind meant she still loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am a terrible person, recreating Jaime going back to Cersei. Though to be fair, I've given hints that was going to happen and I also put a little more reason behind it. . .Jaime going back to save the baby and the entire city, not just going back to Cersei. But he's right that he's the one person who can try to talk her into surrendering the city as well as the only other person the Lannister Army will follow.
> 
> While I tried to make his parting from Brienne be as heartbreaking as possible, I wanted to convey that he's not doing it for lust (though warning. . .even though this is a Jorah/Daenerys story and there has been Daenerys/Jon sex, the fact this is also a Jaime/Brienne story is not going to prevent there being some Jaime/Cersei sex) but rather because he is a good man in a place where he may be the one person who can reason with the most unreasonable person. I also wanted Brienne to accept that she has to give him up for the greater good. She's angry but she realizes what he's doing is right, which is why she traded him swords. This would actually be a pretty big deal in real life. Even though the two swords were supposed to be twins, I'm pretty sure that Oathkeeper was bigger and heavier than North Wind (the renamed Widow's Wail), which would make a huge difference to the person fighting with it. For Brienne, it means a smaller weapons when she's used to a broadsword and using her strength. For Jaime, who fights with his left hand, a heavier sword puts him at a disadvantage because it is more pressure on an already weakened grip. But to Brienne, giving him Oathkeeper signifies that she trust his honorable intentions and taking North Wind means she may not like what he is doing but she still respects him. She has no illusions they will ever be together again (spoiler alert: they will) but she wants them to have something of each other.


	23. Chapter 23

The roughness of Rheagal’s breath broke Deanery’s heart with every choked wheeze. She and Jon had taken burning swords to to slow the bleeding but her son labored for every bit of air he drew and she tried not to think how he sounded a little like Khal Drogo when her husband had laid on his pallet and she had smothered him.

There were no tears left in her after three days of weeping and she curled against Rhaegal’s side, feeling it shudder and pause between pulls of breath and it felt as if her heart froze each time, not sure if it would start again.

How long, she wondered, could any person hover between hope and despair without reaching madness and she wondered if she had already passed it without noticing. Her once-white coat was stained gray and the even the dark leggings showed stains.

She heard footsteps and pulled herself half-upright but she sunk back when she recognized Tyrion’s cadence and she brushed her hand against Rhaegal as if to soothe him. She didn’t know what it meant that he gave no sign of even noticing her presence, let alone Tyrion’s, though nearby Drogon stirred but settled back when he saw her apparent complacency.

“How is he?” Tyrion’s voice was soft and she swallowed tears that – of everyone who stopped to see how she was doing – Tyrion had asked after Rhaegal first. Even Jon, who was his rider, seemed more worried about her.

“He’s the same. No better. No worse.”

Drogon had avoided two more spears on his nearly vertical descent after his brother fell. She nearly come unseated as he had dodged the giant arrows as he’d killed four people when he had turned the entire machine into an inferno.

The two survivors captured by the Unsullied had proved to be men from the Golden Company who had been sent to intercept the dragons just a few days after Jaime had left Kings Landing. They had originally been a much larger force but after two weeks at the Trident, most of them had been marched to Seagard to attempt to retake the Iron Islands for Euron Grayjoy. It had been Tyrion that forced one of the men to send a Raven back to Kings Landing, stating one of the dragons had been killed. Varys had questioned the tactic – if Rhaegar didn’t recover, they had lost their ability to bluff – but Tyrion had maintained that Cersei would know there was a trap set and that the chance of Rheagar recovering and Cersei only counting on one dragon would mean more.

“We’ve had a Raven from Winterfell.”

“You don’t sound as if it were good news.” She sat up a little more, her hand going to stroke Rheagal’s side and Tyrion dropped next to her. His own clothes – dark jacket and trousers – speared to have been laundered more recently than hers had been but they were starting to show the stress of constant wear. The look on his face told her the dragon’s breathing hurt him too – even if not as much as her – and some of the anger stilled in her.

“It’s not. I had written to Lady Sansa about Rheagal. My brother Jaime has left Winterfell for Kings Landing to try to talk Cersei into surrendering the city.”

The acid burn of rage through her throat was an all-to-familiar sensation but the resulting spear of pain through her stomach was almost enough to make Daenerys double over in pain. Fortunately Tyrion mistook the grimace and flinch and he held up his hands in supplication. “He only means to try to help, your Grace. Sansa writes that he hopes he can get Cersei to flee with him. If she does, the Golden Company will have nothing to fight for if no one is paying them. And if Jaime can convince the Lannister Army to leave with him, there will be no opposition.”

“Do you believe he can do this?” Jaime had killed her father but Daenerys privately admitted to herself that she had been secretly glad when Drogo had killed Viserys and her father had been far worse than her brother.

“I don’t know, Your Grace. It is true my sister has a weakness where my brother is concerned. However he is as likely to be weak as she is. Especially if she really is carrying his child. But is it not worth the chance?”

She shrugged, turning her head so her cheek cradled against Rheagal’s side. “Perhaps. Order the Armies that if they capture Ser Jaime that he is to be brought to you. If he bears arms against us, he may yet be executed but because he showed good faith, I will ensure there is a trial first.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed his head, but when he looked up she could see the grief in his eyes as he reached out to touch Rhaegal. “I remember how afraid I was, when I went to him and Viscerion alone to release them from the dungeon. I wasn’t sure if I was going to live through releasing them but it was worth my life to try.” The dragon didn’t stir to Tyrion’s touch any more than it did to hers but she felt tears welling in her eyes for how gentle his fingers were on the rough scales.

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” she choked out, not even ashamed that he saw her crying and his free hand not on the dragon’s hide clutched at her hand. His grasp was warm, fingers blunt and dry but his grip felt like it was anchoring her to herself.

“Your Grace, I beg of you.” His voice was cracking but she didn’t think less of him for the emotion. “Varys and Jon are going to beg you to not tarry here. They will admit your grief as a mother will make you want to remain with Rhaegal and they are going to plead with you that you are playing into Cersei’s hand. That by stalling the Armies here, you will be opening yourself for a counterattack by the Lannister Army and the Golden Company. They will want you to leave Rhaegal here – suitably guarded – and push south to Kings Landing.”

“What do you think?” It was rare that Jon, Varys and Tyrion were not in accord and her curiosity didn’t overcome her grief but it did compete with it.

“Stall. Even if they think you are ruled by emotion. Give Jaime a chance to get to Kings Landing before we do.”

“Your brother is nearly three weeks behind us. Even I can’t stall that long.”

“He will be taking a ship from White Harbor. Even with Winter weakening, he should be able to reach Kings Landing in a week, which is what we estimate is the time we need to march there. Every day you can hold us here is another day he can use to convince Cersei.”

“Or she can convince him she should be Queen.”

“He doesn’t want her to be Queen. He just wants her and their child alive.”

Daenerys shook her head. “But if we don’t march, Cersei will have no reason to fear us.” Her hand went back to Rhaegal and she ignored the look of disappointment in her Hand’s face. “I believe that within three days, if Rhaegal has not succumbed to his wounds, he will recover. I will not leave him to die alone before that time. Will that satisfy you?” This time, Tyrion bowed from the waist, not just dipping his head in deference and she could see the satisfaction in his smile. For a moment she felt the rage welling again, wondering if he had been lying about his concern for Rhaegal but she looked at the hand that still caressed her dragon and she let go of the anger. What filled the vacuum it left was grief and she brushed at her eyes, wiping away the traces of her sorrow. He wasn’t above exploiting her emotions, she thought to herself, to try to get his brother more time, but he hadn’t lied about his feelings for Rhaegal either.

Once Tyrion had left, she rested her head against Rhaegal’s side, feeling as well as hearing the wheezing from his lungs. Drogon padded over to them, his footfalls surprisingly delicate for such a large creature and curled up alongside her and Rhaegal. She could almost feel his confusion and grief as much as if he were a human child using words but he didn’t push his brother like he did sometimes when they were both healthy and vying for attention. It felt like a very long time before she finally drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I wanted to get something out there before I leave the country that was a little less depressing than the last chapter. Granted, it's not much better, but at least I'm trying to establish Rhaegal is going to live. I'm not sure whose perspective the next chapter will be. I owe one to Sansa, but like I said earlier, her part in this story has faded to background for a time. She will play a very key role in the eventual establishment of Daenerys' heir. . .but that isn't for some time to come yet. It's a little early to have a Jaime/Cersei reunion chapter (distasteful, but needs done), so I might have to drop in on Jon and deal with his guilt about Rhaegal.

**Author's Note:**

> I had been prepared for Ser Jorah to not survive for some time now. I originally came up with the idea for this story a while ago and after watching S8x3, I thought I'd just write an AU where Ser Jorah survived the Battle of Winterfell. But since I needed to put some of the characters in a bad emotional place. . .why waste the opportunity handed to us by the latest episode. There is some medical truth to cold slowing down death from trauma (and drowning). I am aware that I am stretching the possibilities of real medical science. But hey, look, dragons (translation: yes, I know, this is improbable. Work with me).
> 
> Disclaimer: Yes, I have read the books. But I think the last time I cracked one open was probably 2014 so while I can intelligently discuss the differences between Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire. . .I'm using show cannon for most of this because I'm a little rusty on book cannon (though I may delve later into a little bit of the REAL reason Tyrion killed Tywin since I always thought the show skipped that part).
> 
> Also, I thought the opening charge of the Dothraki against the Army of the Dead was foolish in the extreme, even if I attempt to justify it here.


End file.
